!li|  llllihlllll  ! 


UBRARY 
UWWERSJrf  OF  CAUfOWBA 


CUNNING    MURRELL 


BY  THE   SAME  AUTHOR 

TALES   OF   MEAN    STREETS 

A   CHILD   OF   THE   JAGO 

TO   LONDON    TOWN 


CUNNING   MURRELL 


BY 


ARTHUR     MORRISON 


METHUEN  &  CO. 

36   ESSEX   STREET,   W.C. 

LONDON 

igoo 


TO   JOHN   LOUIS   WIMBUSH 

Afv  Dear  Wimbush, — /  /hi?ik  you  will  not  yet  have 
forgotten  our  holidays  ifi  old  Essex,  in  the  days  ere  the 
speculative  builder  had  dreamed  of  Leigh,  and  when  Hadleigh 
was  still  the  Hadleigh  of  another  century. 

It  is  in  }ne?noty  of  those  times  that  I  o_ffer  you  my  little 
story,  headed  with  a  name  familiar  to  us  both;  and  with  the 
hope  that  it  may  please  you  to  find  among  my  puppets  images 
— imperfect  enough — of  some  other  old  Essex  friends.  For 
myself  when  some  tell  me,  as  they  will,  that  such  a  man  as 
Murrell  and  such  beliefs  as  he  lived  on  were  impossible  iti  the 
time  and  place  I  give  them,  I  shall  know  that  you,  at  least, 
are  better  infortned:  for  indeed  you  know  MurrelPs  doittgs 
as  well  as  I,  and  you  have  handled  the  amazing  {and gri?ny) 
heap  of  documents  that  he  left  behind  him.  You  can  testify, 
too,  that  a  7nan  was  swum  for  a  witch  {and  died  of  it)  in 
this  same  county  ten  years  after  the  period  of  the  tale.  But 
there! — Yours  always,  A.M. 


LouGHTON,  Essex,  June  1900. 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. 

I.    NEWS  AND  A  BOTTLE,       . 
II.   THE  DISCOVERY  OF  WITCHCRAFT, 

III.  PROLOGUE  MISPLACED,    . 

IV.  A  DAY  OF  FEASTING, 
V.    AN  INTERRUPTED  SONG, 

VI.   A  HOUSE  APART, 

VII.  A  STRANGE  CLIENT, 

VIII.  DOUBTS  AND  A  LETTER, 
IX.  AMAZEMENT  AND  A  PAIL, 

X.  PROFITLESS  DIPLOMACY, 
XI.  SOUNDS  IN  THE  WIND,  . 
XII.   SHADOWS  ON  THE  HILL, 

XIII.  A  TALE  OF  TUBS, 

XIV.  AN  INVITATION  OVER  A  FENCE, 
XV.   A  PRIVATE  DANCE, 

XVI.   A  DAY  AT  BANHAM'S, 
XVII.  THE  CALL  OF  TIME, 


PAGE 
I 

14 
29 

39 

51 

69 

81 

90 

102 

117 

126 

131 
144 
161 
168 
188 
199 


VllI 


CONTENTS 


CHAT. 

PAGE 

XVIII. 

HEAVY  TIDINGS, 

213 

XIX. 

THE  DEVIL  AND  HIS  MASTER,     . 

227 

XX. 

A  GALLANT  OFFER, 

242 

XXI. 

MAN  THE  MASTER, 

.           254 

XXII. 

THE  BOTTLE  AGAIN, 

265 

XXIII. 

A  FAULT  PURGED, 

•           275 

XXIV. 

IN  THE  QUEEN'S  NAME,  . 

•           279 

XXV. 

A  WAKEFUL  NIGHT, 

.           284 

XXVI. 

AND  AFTER, 

.           301 

XXVII. 

FINIS,         .... 

306 

CUNNING    MURRELL 

CHAPTER    I 

NEWS   AND   A   BOTTLE 

THE  sun  was  low  in  the  haze  that  hid  the  hills 
about  Tilbury  Fort,  ten  miles  up  the  Hope. 
Here,  at  the  Thames  mouth,  where  there  was  no  more 
river,  but  salt  sea,  green  marshes  made  the  shore, 
and  Canvey  Island  lay  broad  and  flat  and  low, 
like  a  duller,  thicker  water  rather  than  land,  marked 
off  from  the  shore  by  the  Ray,  pale  gold  in  the 
reddening  light.  Deep  in  coarse  grasses  and  salt 
sedge,  with  purple  thistles  between,  Casey  Marsh 
lay  low  and  level  for  half  a  mile  inland.  Thence 
the  ground  rose,  gently  at  first,  then  more  steeply, 
to  the  irregular  green  ridge  that  backed  the 
marshes  far  as  eye  could  see. 

Stately  and  grey  on  the  boldest  hill  rose  the 
ruined  towers  of  Hadleigh  Castle,  mighty  still  in 
their  decay,  and  imposing  even  because  of  their  rent 
flanks  and  the  vast  thickness  of  wall  there  displayed. 

A 


2  CUNNING  MURRELL 

About  their  foundations  and  clogged  under-passages 
the  fallen  masonry  was  half  covered  with  bramble 
and  bush,  and,  lower,  a  thicker  coppice  fringed  the 
hill  and  marked  the  foot  of  its  steeper  slope. 

From  the  ruins  the  view  was  wide.  Two  miles 
along  the  marshes  below,  toward  the  east  and  the 
open  sea,  stood  the  fishing  village  of  Leigh,  its 
jumble  of  red  roofs  seeming  to  rest  on  the  broad 
water  itself,  thick  trees  clothing  the  hill  behind  it, 
and  its  grey  church  tower  standing  high  over  all. 
Across  the  estuary,  five  miles  away  at  its  nearest, 
lay  the  Kent  shore,  now  growing  misty,  and  the 
quiet,  smooth  water  between  was  dotted  with  the 
Leigh  boats,  like  gnats  on  a  pond. 

From  the  lowest  of  the  loop-holes  in  the  castle's 
boldest  tower  the  end  of  a  brass  telescope  pro- 
truded, for  there  Roboshobery  Dove  kept  his  daily 
watch  for  the  sole  news  of  the  outer  world  that  he 
cared  for — news  of  the  war,  in  so  far  as  it  might 
be  learned  from  the  traffic  about  the  Nore.  For  it 
had  been  his  fortune,  since  the  Baltic  fleet  had 
been  at  work,  more  than  a  few  times  to  spy  a 
sloop  of  war  with  a  tail  of  captured  Russian  vessels, 
making  across  the  Little  Nore  for  the  Medway 
mouth,  on  the  way  to  Sheerness  hulks  and  Chatham 
Dockyard. 


NEWS  AND  A  BOTTLE  3 

The  hole  was  far  wider  within  than  without,  and 
among  the  boulders  of  ragstone  Roboshobery  sat 
snugly,  his  unstrapped  wooden  leg  fixed  in  a 
crack,  and  so  offering,  with  its  wide  socket,  a 
convenient  rest  for  the  telescope.  He  was  a  large 
man,  though  his  size  was  mainly  a  matter  of 
breadth.  His  face  was  brown  and  round,  and  his 
broken  nose  gave  it  an  undue  appearance  of 
flatness  ;  nor  was  it  the  handsomer  for  the  few 
large  pock-marks  that  speckled  its  surface.  His 
hair  hung  thick  in  iron-grey  curls  that  were  nearly 
black  from  beneath  the  hard  glazed  hat,  which  was 
the  commonest  head-gear  in  the  neighbourhood 
alike  for  seamen  and  landsmen  ;  and  all  of  beard 
that  was  unshorn  was  the  thick  roll — sometimes 
called  "monkey-choker" — that  grew  from  ear  to 
ear  below  his  jaw.  His  green  smock  might  have 
inclined  the  observer  to  judge  him  an  agriculturist, 
were  it  not  contradicted  by  the  earrings  visible 
among  his  thick  curls ;  earrings  that  were  a 
tradition  and  a  matter  of  professional  equipment 
among  mariners  for  the  bettering  of  the  eyesight. 
So  that,  upon  the  whole,  one  would  judge  Robo- 
shobery Dove  a  retired  seaman  with  rustic  connec- 
tions, which  guess  would  be  correct. 

The    sun    grew    redder   in    the    haze,    and    the 


4  CUNNING  MURRELL 

Thurrock  hills  bit  into  its  lower  edge  ;  the  Leigh 
roofs  were  duller,  and  the  sea-line  to  the  east  was 
lost  in  the  rising  grey.  Down  in  the  coppice 
shadows  grew  thick,  and  the  light  was  gone  from 
the  tops  of  the  tallest  thorns.  Nests  were  settling 
to  rest  with  diminishing  twitters,  save  where  a 
nightingale,  hoarse  with  summer,  began  his  broken 
song.  A  rabbit  peeped  out  on  the  hillside, 
scampered  three  yards  madly,  and  stopped  to 
nibble  ;  and  another  joined  it.  Then  the  sun  was 
a  mere  fiery  edge  above  the  mist,  and  in  the  east 
a  speck  of  light  broke  out  in  the  gathering  dark. 
At  that  the  watcher  took  his  eye  from  the 
telescope  and  shut  the  instrument  hastily.  The 
Nore  Light  had  recalled  him  to  a  sense  of  time. 
The  wooden  leg  was  on  the  stump  and  buckled  in 
scarce  three  movements,  and  Roboshobery  Dove, 
with  an  agility  characterised  rather  than  hampered 
by  the  rigid  limb,  scrambled  to  the  ground  and 
hurried  off  toward  the  lane  behind  the  hill.  For 
though,  of  course,  wooden  leg  notwithstanding,  he 
was  afraid  of  nothing  and  nobody,  and  the  old 
women's  tales  of  the  bedevilment  about  the  castle 
after  dark  were  not  seriously  to  be  considered, 
still  there  was  no  need  to  stay  now  that  it  was 
growing  too  dark  to  see  a  sail  a  mile  away.     And 


NEWS  AND  A  BOTTLE  5 

moreover,  there  was  news  to  tell,  for  three  Russian 
vessels — mere  brigs,  it  was  true — had  been  taken 
past  the  Grain  Spit  scarce  two  hours  back. 

The  lane  was  low  and  dark  in  the  hollow  behind 
the  hill.  Thence  it  climbed  gently,  throughout  its 
half-mile  of  length,  to  Hadleigh  village.  Early  on 
the  way  a  cottage  looked  down  from  a  bank,  and 
at  its  garden  rail  a  girl  stood. 

Roboshobery  Dove  raised  his  telescope  and 
hailed,  though,  indeed,  the  girl  had  been  watching 
for  him.  "Three,"  he  said.  "Three  through  in 
the  art'noon.  But  no  good — coastin'  brigs  an'  that. 
Wonnerful  few  good  prizes  lately — took  'em  all, 
I  count." 

"No  frieate?"  The  girl's  voice  was  subdued 
but  anxious. 

"Frigate?  O — convoy,  you  mean.  Lor'  sink 
me,  no.  They  woan't  send  frigates  to  mind  a 
row  o'  wash-tubs.  Ye  woan't  see  the  Phyllis  this 
side  o'  October  —  more  like  November."  Robo- 
shobery grinned,  and  wasted  a  wink  in  the  gloom, 
for  he  understood.  Then,  as  the  girl  turned  at  a 
sharp  call  from  the  cottage,  he  went  his  way  up 
the  lane. 

Bats  flitted  over  his  head,  and  followed  him  as 
he  tramped  the  steadily-rising  path,  but  no  other 


6  CUNNING  MURRELL 

living    thing    came  near    till    he    stood   on    higher 
ground  than  the  castle  hill,  and  was  within  stone- 
throw  of  Hadleigh  street.     For  the  dark  castle  lane 
was   no   popular   resort    after   dusk.      One   might 
meet   the    White    Lady,    or    perhaps    her    victim, 
Wryneck  Sal,  and  there  was  the  man  that  hanged 
himself  in  the    castle  barn.      True,    the    year  was 
1854,  and  in  London   everybody  was  surprisingly 
enlightened,  and  all  a  great  deal  wiser  and  more 
knowing  than  any  of  their  fathers  before   them. 
But  Hadleigh,  thirty-seven  miles  from  London  by 
road,  was  a  century  away  in  thought  and  manners  ; 
it  knew  nothing  of  the  railway  beyond   what  the 
literate  among  the  village  fathers  might  read  in  an 
old  copy  of  the  Chelmsford  CJironide  :  sowed  beans 
with  a  dibble :  was  generally  much   as   it  was  in 
King  Charles's  time :  and  had   not  discovered  its 
forefathers  to  have  been   fools.     Indeed,  when  at 
last   the   railway   actually   came    in    sight    a   mile 
away    on     the     marshes     below,    it    brought    no 
station  to  disturb  Hadleigh,  but  went  its  journey 
and  left   the   village  to   sleep    for   another   thirty 
years. 

So  that  Roboshobery  Dove  met  nobody  in  the 
lane — not  even  the  White  Lady  nor  the  Black  Man 
— till  he  had  topped  the  rise  and  was  again  out  of 


NEWS  AND  A  BOTTLE  7 

darkness  and   in   twilight.      But  here  he   spied  a 
friend,  and  hailed  again. 

"  Steve,  O  !     Steve  Lingood,  ahoy  !  " 

The  man  stopped  and  turned ;  a  tall,  hard 
fellow  of  twenty-eight,  in  a  fur  cap  and  leather 
apron  ;  a  smith  visibly,  and  nothing  but  a  smith. 

"  Well,"  he  asked,  "  news?  " 

"Three  little  'uns — nothen  but  shore-scrapers; 
come  to  the  pot-rakin's,  'twould  seem.  Banham 
ha'n't  brote  in  a  paper,  hev  he?" 

"  Banham  ha'n't  been  out — the  gal's  that  bad 
young  Dick  took  the  cart." 

"War,  war,  bloody  war,  north,  south,  east,  an' 
west — an'  Banham  stops  home  to  nuss  a  big  gal, 
'stead  o'  goin'  to  Chelmsford  reg'lar  an'  bringin'  a 
paper  o'  noos !  But  to-morrow's  fair  day,  an' 
there's  sure  to  be  some  brote  in.  What's  so  bad 
with  the  gal  ?  " 

"  Dunno.  Sort  o'  allovers,  'twould  seem. 
Banham,  he's  gone  to  Cunnin'  Murrell,  an' 
Murrell  's  brote  me  a  little  job  over  it." 

"Iron  bottle?" 

Lingood  nodded. 

"  Witchcraft  an'  deviltry  !  Well,  he 's  a  wise  'un, 
that 's  sarten  ;  but  I  don't  count  to  hev  nor  make 
with  sich  truck." 


8  CUNNING  MURRELL 

"That's  as  it  fare.  To  me  it's  shilluns  an' 
pence — no  more.  Though  I  've  'arned  it  this  day, 
double,  an'  done  nothen.  If  I  was  like  some  I'd 
say  my  fire  was  as  far  bewitched  as  Banham's  gal, 
or  else  the  iron.  Can't  make  nothen  of  it ;  won't 
shape,  won't  be  jown  up — obs'nit  as  a  lump  o' 
stone." 

"  'Tis  the  witch,  depend  on't,"  said  Roboshobery, 
with  a  serious  bating  of  voice.  "  She  do  feel  the 
spell  a-makin',  an'  puts  the  trouble  on  the  iron. 
.  .  .  Sink  me,  there's  Master  Murr'Il  hisself!" 

Lingood  turned  his  head.  The  lane  ended 
beside  a  row  of  half  a  dozen  wooden  cottages,  all 
of  Hadleigh  village  that  was  not  ranged  along  the 
Southchurch  road.  A  little  old  man,  in  act  of 
opening  his  door,  espied  the  two,  dropped  the 
latch,  and  came  toward  them.  Lingood  moved  to 
meet  him,  and  Roboshobery  followed  indetermin- 
ately, going  wide  as  he  went. 

The  little  old  man  presented  the  not  very 
common  figure  of  a  man  small  every  way  propor- 
tionately. He  was  perhaps  a  trifle  less  than  five 
feet  high,  thin  and  slight,  but  the  smallness  of  his 
head  and  hands  somewhat  mitigated,  at  first  sight, 
the  appearance  of  shortness.  Quick  and  alert  of 
movement,  keen  of  eye,  and  sharp  of  face.  Cunning 


NEWS  AND  A  BOTTLE  9 

Murrell  made  a  distinctive  figure  in  that  neighbour- 
hood, even  physically,  and  apart  from  the  atmo- 
sphere of  power  and  mystery  that  compassed  him 
about.  Now  he  wore  a  blue  frock  coat,  a  trifle 
threadbare,  though  ornamented  with  brass  buttons, 
and  on  his  head  was  just  such  a  hard  glazed  hat  as 
was  on  Roboshobery  Dove's.  Over  his  shoulder 
he  carried  a  large  gingham  umbrella,  with  thick 
whalebone  ribs,  each  tipped  with  a  white  china 
knob,  and  from  its  handle  hung  a  frail  basket.  He 
nodded  sharply  to  Roboshobery,  who  backed 
doubtfully,  made  a  feint  of  pulling  at  his  forelock, 
jerked  out  "  Good  evenin'.  Master  Murrell,  sir,  good 
evenin',"  and  took  himself  off  into  the  dark.  For 
Cunning  Murrell  was  the  sole  living  creature  that 
Roboshobery  Dove  feared,  and  it  was  Robosho- 
bery's  way  not  only  to  address  the  wise  man  (when 
he  must)  with  the  extremest  respect,  but  to  do  it 
from  a  respectful  distance ;  much  as  though  he 
suspected  him  of  a  very  long  tail  with  a  sting  at 
the  end  of  it.  And  he  stayed  no  longer  than  he 
could  help. 

Murrell  turned  to  Lingood.  "Job  done?"  he 
piped,  in  a  thin  but  decided  voice.     "  Job  done  ?  " 

"  No,"  the  smith  answered,  '"tarn't ;  an'  not  like 
'twill  be,  seems  to  me.     You  '11   hev  t'    unbewitch 


lo  CUNNING  MURRELL 

the  iron,  or  the  fire,  or  summat,  'fore  you  can  get  to 
unbewitchin'  Banham's  gal." 

"Why?" 

"  Iron  won't  weld,  nohow.  Won't  be  jown  up. 
Never  met  nothen  like  it ;  obs'nit  as  flint." 

"  Ah,  we  mus'  see — we  mus'  see.  'Tis  a  powerful 
mighty  witch,  doubtless."  Murrell  said  this  with 
a  sharp  look  upward  at  Lingood,  who  was 
suspected  of  less  respect  than  was  common  in 
Hadleigh  both  for  Murrell  himself  and  for  his  foes, 
the  witches.  And  the  two  turned  toward  the 
village  street. 

Murrell  stopped  at  his  door  and  entered,  while 
Lingood  waited  without.  The  small  room  into 
which  the  door  opened  seemed  the  smaller  because 
of  the  innumerable  bunches  of  dried  and  drying 
herbs  which  hung  everywhere  from  walls  and 
ceiling.  Murrell  put  down  his  frail  and  umbrella, 
and  then,  after  a  few  moments'  rummaging,  blew 
out  the  rushlight,  and  rejoined  Lingood. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "try  the  job  again."  And  the 
two  turned  into  Hadleigh  street. 

The  smithy  stood  a  hundred  and  fifty  yards 
beyond  the  Castle  Inn,  and  on  the  other  side  of 
the  road.  All  was  black  within,  save  where  the 
fire  declared   its    dull  red.     Lingood    groped,  and 


NEWS  AND  A  BOTTLE  ii 

found  a  lantern,  and,  after  a  little  trouble,  lit  the 
wick  of  the  guttered  pile  of  grease  within  it ;  while 
Murrell,  behind  him,  passed  his  hand  twice  or 
thrice  over  the  hot  cinders  of  the  fire,  though, 
indeed,  there  seemed  little  reason  for  any  man  to 
warm  his  fingers  on  a  June  evening  such  as  this. 

"  Do  you  forge,  Stephen  Lingood,"  he  said,  with 
a  voice  as  of  one  taking  command,  "  an'  I  will  blow 
this  stubborn  fire." 

He  seized  the  lever  and  tugged,  and  with  the 
blast  the  glow  arose  and  spread  wide  among  the 
cinders.  The  smith  lifted  from  the  floor  a  clumsy 
piece  of  iron,  partly  worked  into  the  rough  sem- 
blance of  a  bottle,  and  dropped  it  on  the  fire. 

"  Here  stand  I,  an'  blow  the  fire,"  said  Murrell, 
as  one  announcing  himself  to  invisible  powers; 
"an'  let  no  witch  nor  ev'l  sparrit  meddle." 

Lingood  said  nothing,  but  turned  the  iron  in  the 
fire.  Slowly  it  reddened,  and  then  more  quickly 
grew  pale  and  fierce,  while  Murrell  tugged  at  the 
bellows.  He  muttered  vehemently  as  he  tugged, 
and  presently  grew  more  and  more  distinct,  till  the 
smith  could  distinguish  his  words,  howsoever  few 
of  them  he  understood. 

"...  creepin'  things,  an'  man  on  the  Sixth  Day. 
.    .    .    Power  over  all  creatures.    .  .  .    An'  by  the 


12  CUNNING  MURRELL 

name  of  the  Angels  servin'  in  the  Third  Host 
before  Hagiel  a  Great  Angel  an'  strong  an'  powerful 
Prince,  an'  by  the  name  of  his  star  which  is  Venus, 
and  by  his  seal  which  is  holy  ;  .  .  .  I  conjure  upon 
thee  Anael  who  art  the  chief  ruler  of  this  day  that 
you  labour  for  me  !  " 

Neither  surprised  nor  impressed  by  this  invoca- 
tion, Lingood  seized  a  hammer,  carried  the  radiant 
iron  to  the  anvil,  and  hammered  quickly.  The  mass 
lapped  about  the  anvil's  horn,  met,  and  joined  ;  and 
without  more  words  the  job  was  finished.  With 
another  heating  an  end  was  closed,  and  with  one 
more  the  mouth  was  beaten  close  about  a  heavy 
nut.  Then  the  thing  fell  into  the  tank  with  an 
explosive  hiss  and  a  burst  of  steam,  and  the  neck 
was  shrunk  on  the  nut,  and  the  work  done. 

"Well,  it's  a  nation  curious  thing,"  Lingood  said 
at  length,  screwing  a  short  bolt,  by  way  of  stopper, 
into  the  nut  that  made  the  bottle's  mouth  ;  "  it's  a 
nation  curious  thing  that  iron  'oodn't  work  proper 
before.  Might  a'most  ha'  thote  it  was  filin's  or 
summat  chucked  on  the  fire.  But  nobody  'ud  do 
that,  an'  there's  no  filin's  about." 

Murrell  shook  his  head.  "  Stephen  Lingood," 
he  squeaked,  "them  as  bewitched  your  fire  agin 
my   lawful    conjurations    needed    use    no    mortal 


NEWS  AND  A  BOTTLE  13 

hands.  Den't  you  feel,  Stephen  Lingood,  as  you 
forged  and  I  blowed,  with  words  o'  power  an' 
might,  den't  you  feel  the  ev'l  sparrits  o'  darkness 
about  you  a-checkin'  an'  a-holdin'  you,  hammer  an' 
arm  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  the  smith  stolidly,  taking  his 
pipe  in  his  mouth  and  groping  in  his  pocket  for 
tobacco.     "  No,  I  den't." 

"  No,"  Murrell  pursued,  without  hesitation,  though 
with  a  quick  glance  ;  "  you  did  not.  Sich  was  the 
power  an'  might  o'  my  words,  Stephen  Lingood." 

The  smith  lit  his  pipe  at  the  lantern,  and  for 
answer  gave  a  grunt  between  two  puffs.  Then  he 
said  :  "  I  've  a  mind  to  go  an'  see  how  Banham's 
gal  is  myself  D'  ye  go  there  now,  Master 
Murr'll?" 

It  was  not  Cunning  Murrell's  way  to  cultivate 
any  closer  personal  acquaintance  than  he  could 
help  with  anybody.  Detachment  and  mystery 
were  instruments  of  his  trade.  "  No,"  he  said,  "  I 
go  first  home  for  things  I  need." 


CHAPTER    II 

THE   DISCOVERY   OF   WITCHCRAFT 

LINGOOD  closed  the  smithy  and  came  into 
the  street.  It  was  such  a  night  as  June 
brings,  warm  and  clear  and  starry.  Half  Hadleigh 
was  abed,  and  from  the  black  stalls  and  booths 
that  stood  about  at  random  in  the  street,  waiting 
for  to-morrow's  fair,  there  came  neither  sound  nor 
streak  of  light.  The  smith  walked  along  the 
middle  of  the  street  among  these,  and  at  last 
turned  into  a  narrow  passage  by  the  side  of  the 
Castle  Inn.  Once  clear  of  the  house-walls,  he 
traversed  a  path  among  small  gardens  distinguished 
by  a  great  array  of  shadowy  scarlet  runners,  and 
the  mingled  scents  of  bean  and  wallflower ;  and  so 
came  on  a  disorderly  litter  of  sheds  about  a  yard, 
with  a  large  cottage,  or  small  house,  standing  chief 
among  them.  The  place  was  on  the  ridge  that 
looked  over  the  marshes  and  the  Thames  mouth ; 
near  by  the  Castle  Lane,  and  between  the  village 

14 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  WITCHCRAFT     15 

and  the  cottage,  lower  on  the  hill,  where  Robo- 
shobery  Dove  had  first  delivered  his  tidings  of  war. 
Lights  were  in  the  lower  parts  of  the  house.  The 
circumstance  would  have  been  remarkable  at  this 
late  hour  on  most  other  nights  of  the  year,  but  on 
the  evening  before  fair  day  Hadleigh  housewives 
were  wont  to  be  diligent  in  the  making  of  Goose- 
berry Pie  long  after  the  common  hour  of  sleep ; 
Gooseberry  Pie  being  the  crown,  glory,  high 
symbol,  and  fetish  of  Hadleigh  Fair,  and  having 
been  so  from  everlasting.  But  it  was  no  matter 
of  gooseberry  pie  that  kept  awake  the  household 
of  Banham  the  carrier.  For  on  the  sofa  in  the 
living  room  sat,  or  lay,  or  rolled,  young  Em  Ban- 
ham,  moody  or  flushing,  or  sobbing  or  laughing, 
and  sore  bewitched,  by  every  rule  of  Murrell's 
science.  Bed  she  would  not  go  near,  nor  had  done 
for  two  nights.  Food  she  refused,  and  cried  that 
all  drink  burned  and  choked  her.  Other  troubles 
she  had,  too,  and  once  had  had  a  terrifying  fit.  A 
man  of  medical  science  would  instantly  have  per- 
ceived it  to  be  a  case  of  extreme  hysteria.  But 
out  in  this  forgotten  backwater  of  civilisation, 
where  such  another  case  had  never  been  heard 
of,  the  Hadleigh  vocabulary  could  offer  no  better 
word  for  poor  little  Em's  affliction  than  that  she  was 


i6  CUNNING  MURRELL 

"  took  comical  "  ;  the  word  "  comical  "  being  gener- 
ally useful  to  express  anything  uncommon,  or  be- 
yond the  speaker's  power  of  explanation,  and 
implying  nothing  at  all  of  comedy ;  often,  indeed, 
telling  of  something  much  nearer  tragedy. 

Lingood  clicked  the  latch,  and  a  man  opened  the 
door.  It  was  Banham  himself,  a  shortish,  shaven 
man,  with  weak  eyes  and  an  infirm  mouth.  The 
light  fell  on  Lingood's  face,  and  Banham  turned 
his  head  doubtfully  and  reported  within,  "  'Tis 
Steve  Lingood." 

"Arl  right;  let  him  in,  can't  ye?"  answered  a 
female  voice,  in  which  weariness,  anxiety,  and 
natural  ill-temper  had  their  parts.  So  Banham 
pulled  the  door  wider,  and  said,  with  a  vague 
cordiality :  "  O,  come  yow  in,  Steve ;  come  yow 
in.     'Tare  rare  fanteegs  we  're  in  ;  but  the  missis, 

she — she "   and   the   sentence   tailed    away   to 

nothing,  as  was  the  way  of  many  of  the  unim- 
portant Banham's  sentences.  v 

Lingood  stepped  straight  into  the  keeping-room 
and  into  the  presence  of  the  Banham  family,  of 
which  the  majority,  as  to  number,  was  ranged  up 
the  staircase  at  a  corner  of  the  room  ;  those  of 
ten  or  eleven  on  the  lower  stairs,  and  the  rest,  in 
order  of  juniority,   on   those  above  ;   the  smallest 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  WITCHCRAFT     17 

and  last  of  the  babies  signifying  his  presence  on 
the  upper  landing  by  loud  wails.  Mrs.  Banham, 
a  large,  energetic,  but  slatternly  woman,  whose 
characteristic  it  always  seemed  to  grow  more 
slatternly  and  to  spread  more  general  untidiness 
the  more  energetic  she  showed  herself,  sat  in  a 
chair  with  her  hands  in  her  lap  and  a  blue  glass 
smelling  bottle  in  one  of  them.  Opposite  her 
stood  Mag  Banham,  the  first-born,  a  stout,  fair, 
blowzy  girl  of  twenty  or  so.  Both  were  con- 
templating the  sufferer,  a  girl  of  sixteen,  haggard 
and  flushed,  who  sat  on  a  sofa,  rocking  her 
head  and  shoulders,  looking  piteously  from  one 
face  to  another,  and  now  and  again  twitching 
one  cheek  with  the  monstrous  semblance  of  a 
wink. 

"  O,  mother  !  O,  Mag  !  "  she  moaned  indistinctly, 
"  I  do  fare  that  bad !  Yow  woan't  let  me  suffer 
mother,  will  ye?  Mag,  yow  love  me,  doan't  ye? 
An'  father " 

"  Ah,  my  gal,  we  '11  see  ye  better  soon,"  said 
the  mother,  and  Mag  murmured  sympathetically. 
"  Yow  den't  ote  to  give  way  so,  deary,"  Mrs, 
Banham  went  on.  "  Master  Murr'll's  to  putt  ye 
aw  to  rights." 

"Yow  doan't  pity  me,  mother,"  the  girl  pursued, 
B 


i8  CUNNING  MURRELL 

beseeching  all  present  with  her  eyes  ;  "  yow  doan't 
pity  me ! " 

"  Ees,  deary,  us  do,  all  on  us.  Take  a  drink  o' 
barley  watter,  do,  to  squench  the  fever  ; "  and  Mrs. 
Banham  offered  a  quart  jug.  But  the  patient 
would  have  none  of  it,  thrust  it  away  angrily, 
indeed,  and  moaned  anew.  "  An'  when  I  'm  dead 
you  '11  arl  say  ye  're  sorry,  p'r'aps— no,  yow  woan't, 
you  '11  be  glad  I  'm  a-gone  !  " 

Mrs.  Banham  looked  despairingly  up  at  Lingood. 
"  She  do  sit  like  that,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper  that 
all  could  hear — "she  do  sit  a-dolouring  like  that 
arl  day  an'  night,  for  bed  she  '11  hev  none  of.  And 
then — fits.  Who  should  putt  the  ev'l  tongue  on 
the  gal  thussens?  Dedn'  yow  see  Master  Murr'll? 
He  were  comin',  an'  we  bin  waitin'  on  him." 

Even  as  she  spoke  the  latch  lifted,  and  Cunning 
Murrell  was  at  the  door,  umbrella  and  frail  basket 
on  shoulder.  At  this  there  was  trouble  on  the  stairs. 
For  the  long  train  of  little  Banhams,  in  all  stages 
of  undress,  the  whole  proceedings  were  matter  of 
intense  interest  and  diversion.  But  while  those 
behind  pushed  forward  rebelliously  against  their 
seniors,  these  latter,  though  holding  to  the  fore- 
most places,  were  more  disposed  to  push  back  ; 
partly   in   awe   of  the   wise   man  whom  half  the 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  WITCHCRAFT  19 

country  held  in  fear,  but  more  in  terror  of  their 
mother's  vigorous  hand,  which  had  already  driven 
back  the  reconaissance  twice  in  course  of  the 
evening.  So  that  instant  on  Murrell's  appearance  a 
riot  arose  on  the  stairs,  a  scuffle  and  a  tumble,  and, 
amid  a  chorus  of  small  yells,  little  Jimmy,  all  ends 
up,  came  bursting  though  the  advance  guard,  and 
sprawled  on  the  floor  with  his  shirt  about  his  neck. 

"0\v!"  he  cried.  "  Ow !  Bobby  shoved  me 
downstaers ! "  And  with  that  Mrs.  Banham  left 
jug  and  smelling-bottle,  and  seizing  Jimmy  by  a 
leg  and  an  arm,  drove  back  the  column  in  panic, 
and  shut  the  stair-foot  door. 

"  Good  t'ye  arl,"  said  Murrell,  in  his  small,  sharp 
voice.  "  I  see  smoke  from  your  bake-hus,  Mrs. 
Banham.     Be  the  fire  well  rastled  ?  " 

"  Ees,  an'  I  '11  war'nt  that 's  hot.  I  've  arl  that 
yow  spoke  of,  Master  Murr'll,  in  the  ketchen.' 

Murrell  took  the  iron  bottle  from  the  frail,  and 
followed  Mrs.  Banham  into  the  room  behind. 
There  was  a  sound  as  of  something  poured,  and 
a  low  conversation. 

Banham  looked  helplessly  about  him,  and  began 
again:  "'Tare  rare  fanteegs  we're  in,  Steve,  sarten 
to  say,  an'  it  do  dunt  me  arltogither.  But  the 
missis,  she " 


20  CUNNING  MURRELL 

"  An'  they  be  toe  as  well  as  finger  nails  com- 
plete?" came  Murrell's  quick  voice,  as  the  two 
returned. 

"  Ees,  that's  arl  as  yow  told  me,  Master  Murr'll, 
an'  here  be  pins  an'  needles." 

Murrell  shovelled  them  from  his  palm  into  the 
bottle,  and  dived  again  into  the  frail.  Thence  he 
brought  dried  leaves  of  four  sorts,  and  these  were 
stuffed  in  after  the  pins  ;  and  last  went  a  little 
heap  of  horse-nails. 

"Do  you  screw  it  hard,  Stephen  Lingood,"  said 
Murrell,  "  with  your  strong  fingers." 

Lingood  took  the  bottle  and  screwed  the  stopper 
down  as  far  as  it  would  go. 

"  Now  'tis  ready,  neighbours,"  Murrell  squeaked, 
"  an'  you  give  aer  to  what  I  tell.  We  go  arl  to  the 
bake-hus — an'  come  you,  too,  Stephen  Lingood, 
for  true  witness.  An'  mind  you  arl,"  he  went  on 
with  gusto,  for  he  enjoyed  the  authority  his  trade 
gave  him,  "  once  the  bake-hus  door  shuts  on  us, 
not  a  word  mus'  one  speak.  What  I  hev  prepared 
will  putt  sore  pain  an'  anguish  on  the  hainish  witch 
that  hev  laid  the  ill  tongue  on  this  house.  'Tis 
a  strong  an'  powerful  spell,  an'  'haps  the  witch  may 
be  druv  to  appear  before  us,  bein'  drawed  to  the 
sput   in    anguish;    'haps    not;    'tis    like    that's    a 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  WITCHCRAFT     21 

dogged  powerful  witch,  an'  will  stay  an'  suffer,  an' 
not  be  drawed.  But  come  or  stay,  not  one  word 
mus'  be  spoke,  or  the  spell  makes  nothen.  If  come 
she  do,  she'll  speak,  with  a  good  axcuse,  that's 
sarten,  that  some  here  may  be  drawed  to  answer, 
an'  break  the  spell ;  or  may  make  count  to  meddle 
with  the  oven  ;  so  heed  not  her  words,  nor  make 
one  sound.     But  'haps  she  won't  come." 

Banham  shuffled  uneasily,  and  looked  at  his 
wife.  But  she  stooped  to  Em  and  took  her  arm. 
"Come,"  she  said,  "we're  goin'  in  the  bake-hus, 
Em,  to  cure  ye." 

The  girl  had  ceased  to  rock  herself,  and  now 
stared  sullenly  at  the  floor.  "  I  'm  afeard,"  she 
said  ;  "  feard  o'  the  witch." 

"  There 's  no  call  to  be  feared,"  the  mother 
answered  ;  "  us  be  Avith  ye,  an'  Master  Murr'll,  with 
proper  deadly  power  over  arl  witches.  So  come 
now."  She  took  her  firmly,  and  presently  the  girl 
rose  and  went. 

Banham  took  the  rushlight,  and,  shading  it  with 
his  hand,  went  last  of  the  group  into  the  yard. 
The  nearest  of  the  outbuildings  was  the  bakehouse, 
scarce  three  yards  from  the  kitchen  door.  From 
its  chimney  white  smoke  rose,  and  when  the  door 
was  opened  the  smell  of  wood  fire  was  sharp  in 


22  CUNNING  MURRELL 

the  nostrils.  Murrell  turned  and  took  the  rush- 
light from  Banham,  shaking  his  forefinger  and 
tapping  his  lips  as  he  did  so,  to  remind  the  com- 
pany of  his  orders.  When  all  were  within  he  shut 
the  door,  and  lifted  the  latch  of  the  brick  oven. 
The  fire  was  over  high  for  baking,  and  the  white 
ash  had  scarce  begun  to  settle  over  it ;  even  the 
bricks  glowered  a  murky  red,  and  cracked  as 
Murrell  raked  the  embers  with  a  hook.  A  cut 
faggot  lay  on  the  hearth,  and  of  this  he  flung  in 
a  good  half,  so  that  the  fire  burst  into  a  clamour 
of  crackles  and  a  hum  of  flame.  When  it  seemed 
at  its  highest  he  pitched  the  iron  bottle  into  the 
midst,  and  all  crouched  and  waited. 

Lingood  began  to  hope  that  the  bottle  was 
not  altogether  steam-tight  after  all,  and  by  signs 
induced  the  others  to  keep  as  far  as  possible  from 
the  oven.  The  patient  was  calmer  now,  and  quiet, 
viewing  the  proceedings  with  a  dull  curiosity,  her 
head  against  her  mother's  shoulder.  Lingood  stood 
by  the  wall,  and  sucked  a  little  nervously  at  his  pipe. 
He  feared  an  accident,  but  it  would  never  do  to 
spoil  the  arrangements  now,  or  at  any  time  to  set 
in  question  anything  done  by  Murrell,  who,  as 
everybody  knew,  was  the  most  learned  man  in  Essex. 
As  for  Mag  and  her  father,  both  sat  and  stared, 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  WITCHCRAFT  23 

open-mouthed,  much  as  Jimmy  and  Bobby  would 
have  done  had  they  been  admitted  to  the  bakehouse. 

Presently  a  slight  sound  was  heard  from  within 
the  oven,  and  Lingood  knew  that  the  steam  had 
found  a  tiny  vent  at  the  screw-stopper.  But  it 
was  tiny  indeed,  and  it  was  only  because  of  the 
perfect  stillness  that  the  faint  hiss  could  be  heard 
at  all.     Even  the  rushlight  was  noisier. 

And  then,  as  all  listened,  there  was  a  sharp 
sound  without.  It  widened  every  mouth  and  eye, 
for  it  was  the  click  of  the  gate  in  the  outer  fence. 
There  was  a  louder  clap  as  the  gate  slammed  to, 
and  then  the  sound  of  footfalls  nearing  the  bake- 
house. Only  Lingood,  because  of  his  position, 
could  see  though  the  window,  or  would  have  dared 
to  look.  He  saw  but  a  dark  figure,  and,  as  it 
passed  the  window,  a  white  face.  And  with  that 
the  door  opened. 

The  women  shrank  together,  and  Murrell  turned, 
stooping  still,  to  face  the  entrance.  On  the  thresh- 
old an  old  woman  stood — a  pale  old  woman  in 
rusty  black.  With  a  skin  clear  almost  beyond 
nature,  she  had  a  firm,  perhaps  a  hard  mouth,  and 
overhanging  brows,  thick  and  grey  and  meeting  in 
the  middle.  Howbeit  her  expression  was  rather 
one  of  fortitude  than  of  harshness. 


24  CUNNING  MURRELL 

She  looked  about  the  bakehouse  as  in  some  sort 
discomposed  by  the  gathering,  and  then  said, 
nodding  toward  the  oven,  "  I  could  see  you  were 
hottin'  your  oven  this  late,  Mrs.  Banham,  an'  I 
thote  'haps  you  might  let  me  put  in  a  bit  o'  bread- 
stuff 'long  o'  yours."  She  faltered  and  looked 
doubtfully  at  the  silent  company.  "  If  that  be 
no  ill-convenience,"  she  added  apologetically,  and 
produced  a  full  white  cloth  from  under  her  shawl. 

There  was  no  answer,  though  every  eye  was  on 
her.  It  was  plain  that  she  was  uneasy.  "My 
niece  Dorrily  hev  made  a  gooseberry  pie,"  she 
pursued,  "  but  with  that  we  den't  want  to  trouble 
ye,  thinkin'  that  Mrs.  Cheadle  were  a-bakin', 
though  it  seem  she  a'n't." 

Still  nobody  spoke.  Em  clung  to  her  mother, 
shaking  and  staring,  and  all  the  nearer  choking 
for  the  hand  Mrs.  Banham  laid  across  her  mouth 
to  keep  her  quiet.  Murrell  raised  his  finger  to 
maintain  the  silence,  and  gazed  keenly  in  the  old 
woman's  face.  Banham's  jaw  had  dropped  till  it 
could  drop  no  farther.     There  was  a  still  pause. 

"  I  wouldn't  ask,"  the  old  woman  went  on,  ill 
at  ease  and  perplexed,  "but  the  bricks  be  fallen 
out  o'  my  oad  oven,  an'  that  Dan  Fisk  that  was 
to  mend  it,  he  den't  come." 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  WITCHCRAFT     25 

Still  not  a  word.  There  was  something  hostile, 
and  more  than  hostile,  in  the  general  gaze,  and 
the  old  woman,  bewildered  still,  now  spoke  with 
some  acerbity.  "If  you  woan't,"  she  said,  " there 's 
no  harm  done,  though  a  civil  answer  'ud  cost  ye 
nothen.  'Haps  the  oven's  full  o'  some  oather 
thing,  but  leave  that  as  may  be,  the  least 
you  give  a  beggar's  an  answer,  neighbours. 
'Taren't  your  habit  to  keep  a  shut  mouth,  Mrs. 
Banham." 

Mrs.  Banham  gave  no  reply  but  a  glare  of 
hate.  There  was  sign  of  a  sob  breaking  through 
the  hand  that  was  over  Em's  mouth,  and  then 

The  oven  door  shot  through  the  window,  and  the 
place  was  full  of  flying  embers  and  stinking  steam. 
Blinded  and  half-stunned,  everybody  scrambled 
at  random,  and  the  first  distinct  sound  after  the 
deafening  bang  was  the  shrill  voice  of  Murrell  from 
the  midst  of  the  rout.  "  'Tis  done,  and  done  well ! 
So  go  arl  ev'l  sparrits  from  out  o'  this  household, 
an'  so  be  the  witch  hurt  an'  tormented  an'  over- 
throwed  ! " 

Overthrown  the  old  woman  was,  in  truth.  The 
oven  sill  was  something  near  four  feet  from  the 
ground,  so  that  their  crouching  position  had  saved 
the  cunning  man  and  his  clients,  who,  save  for  a 


26  CUNNING  MURRELL 

fright  and  a  few  burns,  were  little  the  worse. 
Lingood,  too,  in  his  corner,  had  no  more  to  lament 
than  a  hole  or  two  scorched  in  his  clothes,  but  the 
old  woman  lay  still,  with  a  cut  in  her  cheek,  for 
she  had  been  standing  almost  in  the  path  of  the 
explosion.  When  the  rushlight  had  been  found 
and  relighted  Murrell  pointed.  "  See,"  he  said, 
"  'tis  done,  an'  done  double.  Blood  drawed  above 
the  breath ! " 

And,  indeed,  it  was  plain  that  the  shock  had 
wrought  a  change  in  Em,  for  she  was  laughing 
quietly.  It  was  not  the  unpleasant,  noisy  laughter, 
full  of  hiccups,  that  had  signalised  the  sole  change 
in  her  gloom  in  the  last  few  days,  and  she  spoke 
cheerfully.  "  To  think  'twere  Mrs,  Mart'n !  But 
there,  I  knowed  it  arl  along.  'Tis  done  now  arl- 
together  an't  it,  mother?  I'm  a-well  now,  Mag. 
But  I  knowed  it  were  Mrs.  Mart'n  arl  along,  den't 
I,  mother?     Ha,  ha  !     Ees,  sarten  to  say  !  " 

Lingood  lifted  the  old  woman's  shoulders,  and 
made  to  loosen  her  bodice  about  the  neck. 

"Fling  her  out,  Steve  Lingood,  fling  her  out!" 
cried  Mrs.  Banham.  "  Let  her  gownd  choke  her 
if  'twill,  an'  let  the  devil  hev  his  own  ! " 

But  Lingood  stolidly  rested  the  woman  against 
his  knee,  and  began  a  clumsy  attempt  at  restoring 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  WITCHCRAFT     27 

her.  "  You  ve  had  your  will,"  he  said,  "  an'  now 
'haps  you  '11  give  her  a  cup  o'  watter." 

Banham,  whose  meek  vacuity  not  even  an  ex- 
plosion could  destroy,  after  a  gaping  pause  to 
assimilate  Lingood's  meaning,  took  a  step  toward 
the  door,  but  stopped  at  his  wife's  command. 

"Yow  stay  where  yow  be,  Joe  Banham!"  she 
cried  furiously.  "  Let  me  see  yow  bring  bit  or  sup 
for  that  darty  witch  that  hev  put  the  ill  tongue  on 
your  own  flesh  an'  blood  darter !  An'  if  'tis  watter 
yow  want  for  her,  Steve  Lingood,  there's  a  foison 
o'  watter  in  t'hosspond  for  sich  faggits !  Taake  an' 
swim  her  1 " 

"  She  ote  to  be  drownded,"  said  Mag,  "  if  drownd 

she  'ool." 

And  Murrell  added  his  rebuke.  "That  queer 
me,  Stephen  Lingood,"  he  said  gravely,  "to  see 
you  aidin'  and  comfortin'  so  wicked  a  witch.  Since 
you've  touched  her,  take  her  out  an'  leave  her  to 
God's  will." 

Lingood,  fumbling  awkwardly  and  looking  for 
help  in  vain,  was  aware  of  a  quick  step  in  the  yard, 
and  with  it  an  urgent  voice.  "  Mrs.  Banham,  Mrs. 
Banham  !  is  't  an  accident  ?     Is  my  aunt  here  ?  " 

The  voice  was  at  the  door,  and  in  another 
moment  a  girl  in  a  print  gown  was  within,  kneel- 


28  CUNNING  MURRELL 

ing  by  the  old  woman — the  girl  who  had  asked 
news  of  the  war  that  evening  of  Roboshobery  Dove. 
"  O,  what  is  't  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Mrs.  Banham,  be  she 
hurt  ?  " 

The  answering  torrent  of  abuse  stupefied  the  girl, 
but  in  its  midst  the  old  woman  opened  her  eyes 
and  made  a  move  to  rise.  The  girl  began  to  wipe 
the  blood  from  her  cheek,  but  Lingood  nodded 
sharply  toward  the  door  and  lifted  her  by  the 
shoulders. 

"  Yes — come ;  come  out,"  the  old  woman  said 
faintly,  as  the  smith  aided  her  steps.  But  the  girl 
stood  in  amaze.  She,  too,  was  clear-skinned  and 
pale,  with  long  black  hair ;  and  her  firm  black 
eyebrows  exhibited,  though  in  a  less  degree,  the 
family  peculiarity  of  a  join  at  the  meeting.  She 
faced  the  storm  with  little  understanding,  though 
she  heard  her  aunt  called  a  witch  again  and  again. 

Presently  she  found  speech  to  exclaim  :  "  She  's 
no  witch!     Master  Murr'll,  what  ha'  you  been  at?" 

But  her  aunt  pulled  her  by  the  skirt  and  com- 
manded :  "  Come  !     Come  yow  away,  Dorrily  !  " 

And  so  they  went  with  Lingood  into  the  lane. 


CHAPTER     III 

PROLOGUE   MISPLACED 

THE  cottage  overlooking  the  castle  lane  was 
in  more  than  one  sense  a  habitation  apart 
from  Hadleigh,  and  it  had  been  so  for  long.  For 
the  Martins  were  "  foreigners " — that  is  to  say, 
they  came  from  fifty  or  sixty  miles  off  along  the 
coast,  and  what  was  of  much  more  serious  im- 
portance, they  were  connected  with  the  coastguard. 
In  1 83 1  great  changes  were  made  in  the  revenue 
service,  and  it  was  then  that  John  Martin  and  his 
wife  came  to  the  Leigh  station.  Now  in  those 
days  the  revenue  service  was  not  popular  in  this 
part  of  the  coast — nor,  indeed,  in  any  other  part. 
Smuggling  was  a  great  trade — not  quite  so  great 
here  as  it  was  in  parts  of  Kent,  perhaps,  but  a 
large  enough  trade  considering  the  thinness  of  the 
population,  and  a  paying  trade.  Indeed,  it  was 
carried  on  with  something  more  of  impunity  than 
in    the  famous   smuggling  districts   on    the   south 

29 


30  CUNNING  MURRELL 

coast,  where  both  smugglers  and  King's  men  were 
more  numerous  and  more  active.  The  nearest 
guard  station  after  Leigh  was  at  Shoeburyness, 
almost  seven  miles  along  the  coast,  and  the  men 
were  few.  More,  they  were  familiar  and  native  to 
the  district,  and  apt  to  be  very  luke-warm  friends 
of  the  King,  it  was  hinted ;  and  certainly  they 
were  no  very  bitter  enemies  of  the  smugglers.  As 
for  the  old  riding  ofificer  that  trotted  harmlessly 
between,  usually  along  the  main  road  behind  the 
cliff-ridge,  and  safely  out  of  sight,  he  was  regarded 
less  as  a  terror  than  as  an  object  of  pleasant  enter- 
tainment and  a  runner  of  fool's  errands  for  the 
amusement  of  the  idle  humourist.  It  is  possible 
that  this  was  not  the  only  part  of  the  coast 
where  similar  conditions  existed  ;  but  under  King 
William  great  changes  came.  Men  were  moved 
into  strange  districts,  were  forbidden  to  marry 
among  their  new  neighbours,  and  were  made  to  live 
as  much  apart  as  was  possible.  So,  in  the  general 
shifting  of  the  pieces  in  the  game,  John  Martin  and 
his  wife,  humble  and  inconsiderable  pawns,  were 
put  down  in  the  midst  of  the  enemy  at  Leigh,  Mrs. 
Martin's  brother,  Reuben  Thorn,  going  with  them, 
and  taking  his  wife  too. 

The  force  of  repulsion  between  the  revenue  men 


PROLOGUE  MISPLACED  31 

and   their   neighbours    came    not    alone   from    the 
King's  side,  in   shape  of  regulations.     For  if  the 
service  men  were  loth,  as  in  duty  bound,  to  asso- 
ciate with  those  about  them,  these  latter  on  their 
side  regarded  with  a  natural  suspicion  and  dislike 
the  strangers  who  were  come  among  them  to  over- 
set the  pleasant  course  of  life  to  which  they  were 
accustomed ;    not  only  to  cut  off  the  easy  supply 
of  good  liquor  and  good   tobacco  which  was  felt 
to  be  every  man's  elementary  right,  but  also  to  cut 
off  the  source  of  much  prosperity  to  freighters  and 
venturers,  and  of  liberal  and  easy  wages  for  every 
man  who  could  carry  two  tubs  on  a  dark  night. 
There  was  a  jealous  watch,  too,  for  informers  and 
babblers  (though,  in  truth,  they  were  rare  enough), 
so   that,   for   their   own    sakes,    few   displayed   an 
ambition  to  contract  relations  of  any  sort  with  the 
coastguard,  and  there  was  a  great  difficulty  in  find- 
ing lodging  for  the  men  and  their  families. 

John  Martin  and  Reuben  Thorn  had  long  house- 
hunting troubles,  and  got  over  them  at  last  by 
renting  between  them  the  cottage  over  Hadleigh 
Castle  Lane.  It  was  empty  and  badly  out  of 
repair,  and  it  had  a  vaguely  evil  name,  in  some 
indistinct  way  acquired  from  the  memory  of  the 
man  who  hanged  himself  in  the  castle  barn.     But 


32  CUNNING  MURRELL 

it  had  advantages.  First,  after  so  long  lying 
empty,  it  was  cheap  ;  it  enabled  the  two  related 
couples  to  live  together,  and  share  expenses  ;  and 
it  was  some  little  way  removed  from  other  cottages, 
so  that  the  men  could  come  and  go  without  being 
under  common  observation.  It  was  the  property  of 
one  Simon  Cloyse,  of  Leigh,  a  man  of  Dutch 
descent,  like  many  hereabout.  He  was  a  "  warm  " 
man,  of  various  trades  ;  he  kept  an  inn  and  a  shop  ; 
he  held  shares  in  divers  fishing  craft ;  sometimes 
he  lent  money ;  but  it  was  said  that  he,  as  well 
as  his  father  before  him,  had  done  best  out  of 
smuggling.  Not  as  an  active  smuggler,  taking 
personal  risks,  for  it  was  never  Sim  Cloyse's  way 
to  take  a  risk  of  any  sort ;  but  as  a  freighter,  who 
found  as  much  of  the  money  needed  as  would 
enable  him  to  take  to  himself  best  part  of  the 
profits.  To  keep  such  transactions  wholly  secret 
in  such  a  community  as  that  of  Leigh  were  an 
impossibility,  but  it  was  a  fact  that  nowhere,  and 
at  no  time,  could  the  keenest  eye  have  detected 
a  single  scrap  of  positive  evidence  connecting  Sim 
Cloyse  with  a  contraband  operation  of  any  sort. 
Still  matters  seemed  so  to  fall  out  that  few  of 
the  active  and  more  daring  smugglers,  the  boat- 
captains  and   the   like,    but   found   themselves,  in 


PROLOGUE  MISPLACED  ss 

some  mysterious  way,  in  Sim  Cloyse's  debt — a 
condition  no  Leigh  man  was  ever  known  to  get 
out  of.  Golden  Adams,  in  particular,  a  daring  and 
perhaps  a  rather  quarrelsome  young  fellow,  was 
said  to  have  run  a  rare  rig  on  Sim  Cloyse's  money 
for  a  while,  and  now  to  be  growing  desperate  in 
consequence. 

In  other  circumstances  the  superior  officers 
might  have  looked  with  disfavour  upon  the  rela- 
tion of  tenant  and  landlord  between  the  coast- 
guardsmen  and  this  honest  jobber.  But  it  was 
this  house  or  none,  and  a  regular  inspection  of  rent 
receipts  made  debt  on  that  score  an  impossibility. 
So  John  Martin  and  Reuben  Thorn  took  up  their 
quarters  and  brought  their  wives  and  Martin's  little 
son,  young  John  ;  and  perhaps,  on  the  whole,  the 
women  quarrelled  less  than  might  have  been  ex- 
pected. After  a  little  more  than  two  years,  indeed, 
they  quarrelled  not  at  all,  for  Mrs.  Thorn  died  ; 
died  in  giving  Reuben  Thorn  the  child  who  was 
called  Dorrily.  She  was  the  second,  but  the  first 
had  died  at  a  day  old. 

So    Mrs.    Martin   took   the   child   and   reared    it, 

and  little  John  and  his   cousin   Dorrily  grew    up 

together  and  played  together,  much  apart  from  the 

other  children  of  Lady  Sparrow's  School  at  Leigh  ; 

C 


34  CUNNING  MURRELL 

for  the  Leigh  fishermen  were  a  desperate  hard  lot, 
the  coastguardsmen  were  their  natural  enemies, 
and  their  children  carried  the  feud  to  school  with 
them  ;  though,  indeed,  not  many  of  the  fishermen's 
children  went  to  school  at  all  at  that  time. 

By  the  time  that  John  the  younger  was  twelve 
and  Dorrily  eight,  there  had  been  no  change  in  the 
fortunes  at  the  cottage.  Martin  and  Thorn  had 
rowed  guard,  walked  patrol,  and  once  or  twice 
fought  fiercely  with  smugglers,  and  they  were  much 
as  ever  save  for  a  trifle  of  ageing  and  a  scar  or  two. 
Then  there  came  a  wild  winter  night  when  the 
brothers-in-law  went  out  together  for  guard  and 
never  came  back.  It  was  not  till  the  morning 
that  Martin's  wife  knew  they  had  gone  off  shore, 
for  none  of  the  men  themselves  knew  his  own 
night's  duty  till  he  was  told  off.  And  six  hours 
later  still,  the  water  being  little  less  rough,  a  boat 
was  found  bottom  up  and  stove,  and  that  was  all. 
There  was  talk  of  three  men  being  sent  to  watch 
for  smugglers  approaching  a  suspected  sunk  ''crop" 
of  tubs,  but  neither  guard  nor  "crop"  was  ever 
heard  of  again,  though  the  tubs  were  dragged  for 
exhaustively.  So  it  grew  plain  that  no  "  crop " 
was  there,  and  that  the  boat  had  come  to  grief  in 
the  bad  weather. 


PROLOGUE  MISPLACED  35 

The  blow  was  staggering  enough,  and,  though 
she  met  her  fortunes  bravely,  Mrs.  Martin  never 
wholly  lost  traces  of  the  wound.  The  isolation  in 
which  the  household  had  lived  made  the  double 
loss  of  brother  and  husband  the  bitterer ;  more, 
ways  and  means  must  be  considered.  Both  John 
and  Reuben  had  been  thrifty,  sober  fellows,  and 
there  was  a  little  prize-money  saved  to  eke  out 
the  "compassionate  allowance"  ;  and  soon  the  boy 
began  life  on  a  fishing-smack ;  but  the  struggle 
was  hard  enough. 

Simon  Cloyse  behaved  well  on  the  whole.  He 
was  no  very  lenient  landlord  in  general,  but  now 
he  did  not  turn  Mrs.  Martin  out,  for  he  had  no 
other  tenant  to  put  in  her  place.  He  even  allowed 
a  small  reduction  of  rent  when  he  found  she  could 
never  pay  the  full  amount.  And,  by  one  means 
and  another,  the  fight  was  won.  John  earned 
wages  of  a  sort,  and  his  mother  did  a  little  field 
work  now  and  again,  and  so  the  years  went. 

Now  that  there  were  no  coastguardsmen  in  the 
house  the  neighbours  might  well  have  grown  more 
friendly.  They  did  so,  in  fact.  But  Mrs.  Martin 
had  acquired  a  habit  of  detachment,  which  was 
slow  to  leave  her,  and  for  some  while  after  her 
trouble  she  had  other  habits  unattractive  to  the 


36  CUNNING  MURRELL 

neighbours.  She  had  long  fits  of  silence,  and,  at 
times,  fits  of  talking  to  herself.  She  would  dis- 
regard the  presence  of  others,  and  even  pass  hours 
in  company  with  the  children,  without  in  any  way 
regarding  their  existence,  though,  indeed,  her  affec- 
tion was  beyond  the  common.  And  once  she  was 
found  in  the  castle  barn  gazing  at  the  rafter  from 
which  the  traditional  suicide  had  hanged  himself, 
and  she  was  taken  home  by  force.  She  grew  better 
as  time  went,  however,  and  as  her  troubles  fell  away 
from  her  her  fits  of  brooding  were  rarer,  and  at 
last  they  ceased  altogether.  So  that  the  passage 
of  years,  in  some  small  measure,  wore  away  the 
barriers  between  Mrs.  Martin  and  her  neighbours. 
But  then  it  came  to  pass  that  young  John,  grown 
big  and  tall,  and  a  skilled  seaman,  was  himself 
accepted  for  service  in  the  coastguard,  and  so  the 
barriers  rose  again. 

Still  they  were  scarce  such  stark  barriers  as 
before,  for  things  had  changed.  Smuggling  had 
altogether  declined,  as  a  regular  trade,  within  the 
ten  or  twelve  years  since  the  two  cousins  were  left 
orphans,  though  it  still  persisted  in  a  small  way, 
insomuch  that  the  knowing  men  of  Hadleigh, 
Leigh,  ard  Canvey  got  whatever  of  brandy  and 
hollands  they  might  need  for  private  use  without 


PROLOGUE  MISPLACED  37 

obtruding-  the  transaction  on  the  notice  of  the 
customs  officers.  The  Queen's  men  were  more 
efficient,  though  they  were  few  enough  even  now, 
and  though  the  gap  of  seven  miles  still  lay  between 
the  stations  ;  so  that  it  was  no  longer  a  matter  of 
ordinary  experience  for  a  late  watcher  to  peep 
from  his  window  and  see  a  procession  of  pack- 
horses,  with  muffled  feet,  passing  through  Hadleigh 
street  on  the  way  inland,  each  with  its  two  double 
ankers,  or  a  file  of  men  similarly  employed  with 
half-ankers ;  and  no  longer  could  the  neat  house- 
wife afford  to  polish  her  window  panes  with  strong 
gin,  as  in  old  times.  But  though  no  more  small 
fortunes  were  made  in  smuggling,  any  comfortable 
householder  In  the  neighbourhood  would  have 
conceived  himself  tyrannously  ill-used  if  he  were 
altogether  prevented  from  supplying  himself  with 
the  good  drink  to  which  he  had  been  accustomed, 
at  a  price  inconsistent  with  entry  at  the  customs 
office.  And  a  little  later,  when  the  regular  coast- 
guard (and  Jack  Martin  among  them)  had  been 
drafted  off  to  the  war,  and  an  odd  lot  of  substi- 
tutes were  attempting  their  duty,  it  were  a  clumsy 
smuggler  indeed  who  could  not  go  aboard  a 
Dutch  lugger  and  bring  away  anything  he  needed, 
in  reason. 


38  CUNNING  MURRELL 

Thus  it  was  that  although,  as  was  natural,  no 
great  cordiality  existed  between  the  coastguard 
and  the  villagers,  these  latter  were  not  so  ill- 
affected  toward  the  revenue  men  as  in  the  days 
when  they  were  at  war  with  a  profitable  trade. 
And  when  they  went  away  to  fight  the  Russians 
they  became  even  popular  characters  ;  for  every 
smuggler  in  Essex  had  ever  been  a  patriotic 
Englishman,  and  Roboshobery  Dove,  old  man- 
o'-warsman,  fisherman,  and  retired  smuggler,  the 
most  positive  patriot  of  them  all. 

Young  Jack  Martin  and  Dorrily  Thorn  were 
parted  by  all  the  sea  that  lay  this  side  of  the. 
frigate  Phyllis,  with  the  Baltic  fleet ;  but  a  broken 
half  of  the  same  sixpence  hung  about  each  of  their 
necks,  and  when  Roboshobery  Dove  winked  in- 
visibly in  the  dark  lane  it  was  because  he  knew 
that  young  Jack  was  grown  more  than  cousin  and 
old  playmate  to  the  watching  girl. 


CHAPTER    IV 

A   DAY   OF   FEASTING 

IT  was  the  way  of  Hadleigh  Fair  to  begin 
betimes  on  Midsummer  Day  morning,  so  that 
it  had  pushed  Hadleigh  village  almost  out  of  sight 
before  breakfast  was  generally  in  progress.  It 
was  not  great  among  fairs,  perhaps,  but  neither 
was  Hadleigh  great  among  villages.  The  Fat 
Lady  came  there,  and  the  Living  Skeleton,  and, 
one  fair  in  three,  the  Fire-eater  of  Madagascar, 
when  free  from  engagements  before  All  the 
Crowned  Heads.  There  had  been  two  Mer- 
maids within  living  recollection,  though  the  last, 
as  a  sight,  was  considered  unworthy  the  penny 
admission;  but  the  really  great  exhibitions  that 
graced  Rayleigh  Fair  a  month  earlier — Wombwell's, 
Clarke's,  Johnson  and  Lee's — these  rarely  or  never 
took  stand  at  Hadleigh.  So  that  there  was  all 
the  more  money  left  to  buy  gingernuts,  bull's-eyes, 
ribbons,  and — more  important  than  all — Gooseberry 

39 


40  CUNNING  MURRELL 

Pies.  And  if  the  Fat  Lady,  and  the  Living  Skeleton, 
and  the  rest  of  the  prodigies  were  not  enough,  the 
sight-seer  would  find  peep-shows  everywhere — half 
a  dozen  of  them  at  least.  And  as  to  every  other 
sort  of  stand,  booth,  stall,  shanty,  or  wigwam, 
they  made  Hadleigh  village  a  town  for  the  day, 
whereof  the  chief  population  was  contributed  by 
Leigh,  Prittlewell,  Eastwood,  Rochford,  Bemfleet, 
Canvey,  Hockley,  and  a  score  more  parishes. 
Little  was  spent  in  the  serious  matters  of  cattle, 
horses,  and  farm  produce  at  Hadleigh  Fair,  and 
the  dealings — beside  those  in  Gooseberry  Pie — 
were  mainly  in  ballads,  spicenuts,  penny  toys, 
gown  pieces,  garters,  peppermint  stick,  china  and 
watches  sold  by  Dutch  auction,  and  gingerbread 
bought  outright  or  knocked  down  by  the  expert 
with  a  stick. 

The  visitors  from  a  distance  bought  their  goose- 
berry pies  at  the  booths  and  stalls,  except  such  as 
had  friends  living  in  Hadleigh,  with  home-made 
pies  of  their  own.  The  home-made  pies  were  in 
general  esteemed  superior,  because  of  a  greater 
substance  in  the  crust  and  a  more  liberal  disposi- 
tion of  fruit.  Those  at  the  stalls,  though  hand- 
some, plump,  high,  delicate,  round,  and  full  to  look 
at,  had  a  disappointing  way  of  collapsing  "  aw  to 


A  DAY  OF  FEASTING  41 

crumbles "  at  the  first  bite  of  a  healthy  jaw,  re- 
vealing in  the  remains  the  hidden  chamber  of  air 
that  had  given  the  pie  its  goodly  seeming ;  a 
hidden  chamber  filled  and  widened,  it  was  com- 
monly reported,  by  a  puff  of  the  bellows  under 
the  paste  before  baking.  Moreover,  to  put  no 
more  than  four  gooseberries  in  a  penny  pie  was 
justly  regarded  as  an  act  of  rapine.  The  home- 
made pie,  on  the  other  hand,  offered  something  for 
the  teeth  to  get  to  work  on.  Made  in  the  biggest 
pie-dish  available,  it  was  roofed  over  with  a  noble 
arch  of  crust,  solid  and  enduring,  more  often  than 
not  made  of  bread-dough  an  inch  thick  ;  and  its 
complete  filling  of  gooseberries  left  no  room  for 
air.  It  was  a  piece  of  politeness  to  exchange 
wedges  of  this  pie  among  friends,  or  even,  for 
them  that  aspired  to  a  gentility  beyond  that  of 
their  neighbours,  to  exchange  little  separate  pies 
made  for  the  purpose  :  with  the  accompanying 
message:  "Please,  mother  say  will  you  accept  of 
a  bit  o'  gooseberry  poie  ?  " 

The  person  thus  addressed  was  commonly  as 
well  assured  of  the  coming  of  the  pie  as  of  the 
coming  of  fair-day,  and  might  even  have  witnessed 
its  hazardous  transport  through  crowds  of  merry- 
makers the  length  of  the  village.     But  it  was  good 


42  CUNNING  MURRELL 

form,  nevertheless,  to  affect  ineffable  surprise  and 
delight  at  the  present,  and  to  make  the  return  in 
kind  (if,  indeed,  the  present  were  not  itself  a  return 
compliment)  with  expressions  of  depreciation  of 
her  own  handicraft.  "  I  am  that  ashamed  arlto- 
gether  ...  if  your  mother  will  axcuse  .  .  ."  and 
so  forth. 

And  so  the  gooseberry  pie  circulated  with  the 
proper  compliments,  the  gingerbread  was  knocked 
down,  ballads  were  bought  and  rolled  up,  the 
girls  and  women  "  argle-bargled  "  for  gown  pieces 
and  garters,  and  all  things  went  very  merrily 
together.  At  the  Castle  Inn  and  the  Crown  the 
thirst  induced  by  spicenuts  and  peppermint  and 
the  general  circumstances  was  quelled  in  many 
pots  of  "thruppenny  "  ;  but  again  those  with  friends 
in  the  village  had  the  advantage  ;  for  in  half-a- 
dozen  of  the  better  keeping-rooms  at  least  the 
man  of  the  house  would  shut  the  door  with  a  wink, 
and  elicit  from  some  obscure  retreat  a  bottle  ;  a 
bottle  charged  with  cognac  or  hollands  of  a  strength 
and  quality  that  were  a  sufficient  certificate  of  origin 
to  the  man  of  experience. 

Very  early  on  fair-morning  Roboshobery  Dove 
was  astir,  and  planting  out  young  cabbages  in  his 
garden.    He  stood  on  a  plank,  and  used  his  wooden 


A  DAY  OF  FEASTING  43 

leg  as  a  dibble,  driving  a  proper  number  of  holes 
at  suitable  distances  apart.  This  done,  he  loosened 
the  buckles,  knelt,  and  set  and  packed  his  plants 
in  the  holes  thus  prepared.  Ever  he  kept  an  eye 
on  the  road  for  early  arrivals,  for  that  way  came 
all  passengers  from  Rayleigh,  Pitsea,  or  Bemfleet, 
and  he  greatly  desired  a  peep  at  yesterday's 
Chelmsford  Chronicle,  if  by  chance  a  copy  might 
have  been  brought  in. 

His  breakfast  he  took  in  two  instalments,  before 
and  after  the  planting  out,  and  then  left  his  cottage 
to  the  care  of  the  old  woman  who  "  tighted  up" 
for  him.  Spick  and  span,  in  a  clean  green  smock, 
with  his  hat  shining  in  the  sunlight,  Roboshobery 
Dove  stumped  down  the  road  to  the  village,  now 
busy  and  gay.  A  group  of  small  children  with 
daisy  chains  on  sticks  went  straggling  along  in 
mock  procession,  singing  each  his  or  her  own 
perversion  of  the  old  rhyme  : 

Oliver  Cromwell  lay  burled  and  dead, 

HeigJio .'  buried  and  dead  ! 
There  grew  a  green  apple-tree  over  his  head, 

Heigho  !  over  his  head  ! 
The  apples  were  ripe  and  all  ready  io  drop, 

Heigho  !  ready  to  drop  ! 
Then  came  an  old  woman  to  gather  the  crop, 

Heigho  !  gather  the  crop  ! 


44  CUNNING  MURRELL 

Olive?-  rose  and  gave  her  a  crack, 

Heigho  !  gave  her  a  crack  / 
That  knocked  the  old  wornanflat  down  on  her  back, 

Heigho  !  down  on  her  back  ! 
The  apples  are  dried  and  they  lie  on  the  shelf, 

Heigho  /  lie  on  the  shelf  I 
If  you  want  e'er  a  one  you  must  get  it  yourself 

Heigho  /  get  it  yourself  / 

The  perversions  all  had  for  their  object  the 
substitution  of  gooseberry  pie  for  the  dried  apples, 
and  therein  they  were  made  to  succeed  regard- 
less of  metre,  to  the  demoralisation  of  the  whole 
poetical  structure.  Roboshobery  Dove  had  shoul- 
dered his  stick,  by  way  of  keeping  character  with 
the  procession  as  he  caught  it  up,  but  ere  he 
quite  did  so  the  children  checked  their  march, 
and  the  train  closed  into  a  whispering  group  and 
strayed  out  into  the  road.  Roboshobery  looked 
up  and  saw  Dorrily  Thorn,  pale  and  sad,  coming 
along  the  path. 

"  Mornin' !  "  said  Roboshobery,  raising  his  hand 
in  salute.     "  That  aren't  a  fair-day  face,  my  gal  !  " 

"  I  'm  tired.  Master  Dove,  an'  ailing  a  little," 
Dorrily  answered,  and  sought  to  pass  on.  But  the 
old  man  lifted  his  wooden  leg  as  a  barrier,  and, 
bringing  it  down,  took  a  pace  to  the  left,  confront- 
insf  her  with  a  o-rin  on  his  broad  face. 


A  DAY  OF  FEASTING  45 

"  O,  Johjiny's  gone,  what  shall  I  do  f  John's 
gone  to  Ilo  !  "  he  half  said,  half  sung,  and  added  : 
"Don't  yow  fret.  He'll  be  home  a'mos'  soon 
as  yow  could  knit  him  a  puss.  With  a  medal, 
too  !  " 

And  with  a  chuckle  and  a  flourish  of  his  stick 
above  his  head,  as  an  expression  of  naval  and 
military  glory,  Roboshobery  pursued  his  walk. 
The  children  stared  from  across  the  way  till 
Dorrily  had  turned  the  corner  at  the  cross  roads, 
and  then  went  on  with  their  song. 

Roboshobery  Dove  stumped  along  among  the 
people  and  the  stalls  till  he  came  near  the  Crown 
and  opposite  a  little  front  garden  where  a  red-faced 
and  white-headed  villager  in  shirt  sleeves  leaned  on 
the  gate  and  smoked  his  pipe. 

"  Morn',  Henery  !  " 

"  Morn',  Bosh  !  " 

"  Hev  yow  seen  e'er  a  paper  o'  noos  ?  " 

"  No,  I  an't.     Den't  see  ye  las'  night." 

"True  'tis.  I  kim  up  late  from  the  look-out. 
Three  prizes  yes'day  art'noon  ;  no  sense  o'  prizes, 
though — bits  o'  coasters." 

"  Um  !  "  Mr.  Prentice  stood  erect,  rubbed  his 
hand  through  the  white  hair  behind  his  head,  and 
jerked  his  pipe  toward  his  open  front  door.     "  Hev 


46  CUNNING  MURRELL 

a  nip,"  he  said,  and  went  up  the  garden  path  with 
Roboshobery  behind  him. 

It  was  a  neat  keeping-room,  that  lighted  by  the 
front  window,  with  a  tall  clock  and  a  wavy  look- 
ing-glass that  made  the  gazer's  face  an  undulating 
nightmare.  Old  Harry  Prentice  brought  a  black 
bottle  from  the  blackest  corner  of  a  dark  cup- 
board, and  two  glasses.  At  the  lifting  of  the  cork 
a  scent  stole  about  the  room,  the  soft  scent  of  old 
white  brandy,  such  as  never  is  on  sea  or  land  in 
these  meaner  days. 

"Ah  !  "  Roboshobery  said,  sniffing  gratefully  and 
holding  his  glass  to  the  light ;  "  this  is  it !  " 

He  gave  it  the  water  it  needed,  nodded  to  his 
host,  and  rolled  a  gulp  about  his  teeth.  Then  he 
look  at  the  glass  again,  and  said,  "That's  a  few 
years  sen'  that  drop  kim  over,  I  warr'nt." 

"  Ah,  'tis,"   answered   the    other.     "It  do  come 
pretty  good  now,  but  not  like  this." 
"  An'  not  so  much  of  it." 

"No,  not  so  much  of  it."  Mr.  Prentice's  eyes 
wandered  toward  the  tall  clock  by  association  of 
ideas.  For  the  clock  stood  on  a  loose  floor-board, 
and  the  loose  floor-board  covered  a  space  big 
enough  for  as  many  tubs  as  would  make  provision 
for  the  thirst  of  the  latter  years  of  a  man  already 


A  DAY  OF  FEASTING  47 

old.  "But,  Lord,"  he  went  on,  "  I  doan't  see  why, 
now.  These  here  coastguard  chaps  as  they  got 
temp'ry,  them  aren't  worth  nothen.  Why,  poor  oad 
Stagg,  the  ridin'  officer,  dead  twenty  year,  he  'd  a' 
done  better  'n  them,  arl  the  lot.  An'  he  were  no 
sense  o'  use.  Why,  if  I  was  younger,  an'  needin'  a 
stroke  o'  trade,  I  'd  hev  a  cargo  run  now,  easy." 

"  Ay,  'twould  be  no  trouble,  I  'd  wager.  I 
wonder  some  o'  the  sharp  'uns  don't  try.  Oad 
Sim  Cloyse,  eh  ?  " 

"  Him  or  anybody.  'Tis  easier  than  any  time 
this  thutty  year.  Yow  could  land  a  cargo  on 
Canvey  a'most  by  daylight,  an'  night — Lord,  any- 
wheres ! " 

"  I  lay  it  'ud  ha'  bin  done  if  Golden  Adams  was 
about  now.  He  'd  soon  ha'  found  a  freighter  with 
the  brass." 

"  Ah,  he  would.  Mayhap  he  's  a-done  it  where 
he  be  now — over  in  Sheppey.  Though  that  'ud  be 
a  mile  harder  job." 

Roboshobery  Dove  pulled  out  a  knife  and  a 
hard  plug,  but  paused  ere  he  cut.  "Missus  out?" 
he  asked. 

"  Yes.  She 's  full  o'  the  noos.  Hear  about 
Banham's  gal  ?  She  Ve  bin  bewitched,  so  the 
women  do  say." 


48  CUNNING  MURRELL 

"  Ay,  I  hear  tell."  Dove  spoke  with  a  more 
hushed  attention.  "  An'  Master  Murr'll,  he  were 
hevin'  a  witch-bottle  made  with  young  Steve 
Lingood." 

"  That 's  so.  Well,  the  witch-bottle  's  made  an' 
bust  an'  arl,  an'  the  gal 's  better  ;  an'  they  found 
the  witch — so  them  says  as  believes  in  'em."  It 
was  the  way  among  the  more  intelligent  in  Had- 
leigh  to  add  some  such  saving  clause  to  any  refer- 
ence to  the  subject  of  witches. 

"  Cuther  !     Found  the  witch,  eh  ?     Who  is 't  ?  " 

"Young  Jack  Mart'n's  mother." 

Roboshobery's  jaw  dropped,  and  he  caught  his 
quid  with  a  quick  snatch  of  the  hand.  "  What !  " 
he  cried,  "  Mrs.  Mart'n  !     No  !  " 

"  Ay,  'tis  so.  An'  'tis  arl  about,  too.  There 
aren't  a  woman  in  Hadleigh  'ud  take  a  bit  o'  pie 
from  her  to-day  ;  no,  nor  nothen  else.  Nor  go 
near  her." 

"  Mrs.  Mart'n  !  " 

"  Ay  ;  an'  some  do  say  her  niece  is  bad  as  she." 

Roboshobery  stared,  open  mouthed,  for  ten 
seconds.  Then  he  brought  his  fist  on  the  table 
with  a  shock  that  made  the  bottle  jump.  "  'Tis  a 
lie,  damme  !  "  he  said.     "  'Tis  a  lie  !  " 

"  Very  like.     But  they  do  say  it." 


A  DAY  OF  FEASTING  49 

"  Why,  her  boy  Jack  be  a  fightin'  the  deadly 
Rooshans  this  very  minute  !  "  Roboshobery  pur- 
sued, with  a  fixed  stare,  and  a  logic  of  his  own, 

"  An'  they  do  say  'tis  proved  agin  her." 

"An'  I  fit  the  French  meself,  when  I  was  that 
high,  damme  !  "  Roboshobery  went  on  regardless, 
with  the  same  stare  and  the  same  logic,  extending 
his  hand  a  little  higher  than  the  table. 

"  Well !  "  Prentice  ejaculated,  impartially,  and 
finished  his  glass. 

"  That  high,  damme  !  "  Roboshobery  repeated 
without  moving  his  hand.  He  kept  it  in  the  air  for 
a  few  seconds,  and  then  let  it  drop,  and  gave  his 
mouth  the  quid  again.  "  Howsomdever,"  he  went 
on,  "  if  the  women  sez  it,  they  '11  stick  to  it,  an' 
argufyin'  woan  't  change  'em."  And  then,  with 
fresh  heat,  he  repeated  :  "  But  it 's  a  lie  !  " 

"There  be  Jobson  o'  Wickford,"  Prentice  said, 
suddenly  rising  and  looking  through  the  window. 
"  It's  odds  he's  got  a  Chronicle." 

The  two  men  hastened  to  the  door  and  hailed 
Jobson  of  Wickford,  who  was  pulling  up  at  the 
Crown.  As  it  happened  he  had  brought  a  copy 
of  yesterday's  paper  with  him,  for  the  first  Had- 
leigh  friend  who  might  demand  it ;  and  soon 
Roboshobery  Dove,  with  pains  and  slow  spelling, 
D 


50  CUNNING  MURRELL 

was  informed  of  the  war  news.  And  ten  minutes 
later  he  had  Steve  Lingood  by  the  arm  at  the 
smithy  door,  and  was  confusing  the  news  of  the 
burning  of  the  docks  at  Uleaborg  and  Brahestad, 
and  of  the  retreat  of  the  Russians  from  Silistria, 
by  a  mixed  process  of  telling  it  verbally  with  five 
or  six  diversely-pronounced  names  for  each  place, 
and  insisting  on  the  smith  reading  for  himself, 
while  the  paper  was  violently  brandished  about 
his  face  and  ears. 


CHAPTER    V 

AN   INTERRUPTED   SONG 

HADLEIGH  Fair  waxed  and  roared.  It 
was  not  the  way  of  Cunning  Murrell,  in 
general,  to  be  seen  at  daytime ;  his  was  a  silent, 
sudden  presence  of  the  night,  and  there  were  tales 
of  the  distances  he  travelled  (and  hints  of  the 
means  whereby)  that  w^ere  told  in  whispers  only, 
and  not  to  strangers.  But  on  fair  day  he  was 
sought  by  the  sick  and  the  troubled  of  many 
villages,  and  he  dispensed  herbs  and  charms  to 
many  that  travelled  half  across  the  county  to  fetch 
them.  There  were,  indeed,  those  who  came  farther, 
for  Murrell's  fame  as  physician  and  cattle  doctor 
spread  across  the  county,  even  to  the  Suffolk 
border,  and  he  was  esteemed  far  beyond  Bedlow 
of  Rawreth,  who  was  a  most  distinguished  char- 
acter ;  while  in  matters  of  greater  abstruseness  and 
difficulty,  the  baffling  of  witches,  the  recovery  of 
lost   property,   and    the    bringing   to   the    altar   of 

51 


52  CUNNING  MURRELL 

fickle  lovers,  he  had  no  rival  whatever.  But  it 
was  not  his  way  to  sit  at  the  receipt  of  custom, 
taking  in  turn  the  many  that  resorted  to  him. 
Rather  he  must  be  sought  and  solicited,  and  they 
were  the  lucky  that  were  able  to  buy  his  counsel. 
So  that  one  might  always  see  throughout  the  most 
of  fair  day,  in  the  narrow  lane  where  his  cottage 
stood  and  away  from  the  merry  crowd  in  Hadleigh 
street,  certain  pensive  women  and  a  few  anxious 
girls,  their  eyes  solicitously  turned  toward  the 
cunning  man's  door,  their  hands  all  willing  to 
click  the  latch,  though  each  fearful  of  rebuff; 
sometimes,  too,  an  awkward  and  shame-faced  man. 
So  it  was  in  the  lane  this  day.  But  in  the  noisy 
street  the  round  of  gaiety  spun  with  a  dazzle,  and 
in  the  afternoon,  long  ere  the  Fire-eater  had  palled 
or  the  Fat  Lady  had  ceased  to  amaze,  the  cus- 
tomary fight  had  broken  out  between  the  warriors 
of  Hadleigh  and  those  of  Leigh.  The  Leigh  men, 
easily  distinguished  by  their  blue  guernseys,  but 
well  enough  known  individually,  never  allowed  any 
day  of  rejoicing  to  run  many  hours  without  a  fight ; 
and  Hadleigh  was  as  ready  for  Leigh  as  Leigh 
could  wish.  Conspicuous,  though  not  large,  among 
the  Hadleigh  champions  was  Buck  Murrell,  dis- 
graceful  and    degenerate    son    of  the   soothsayer ; 


AN  INTERRUPTED  SONG  53 

short,  thick,  and  shock-headed,  hatless  and  fierce, 
he  was  ever  where  the  fray  raged  closest,  and  this 
day  he  headed  the  rush  up  the  stairs  of  the  Castle 
Inn  that  drove  the  few  Leigh  men  in  the  clubroom 
(made  another  taproom  for  the  day),  out  by  the 
window,  and  down  the  post  of  the  inn-sign  (reached 
by  a  jump  from  the  sill)  hand-over-hand  to  the 
street.  It  was  because  of  this  irregular  escape 
that,  a  week  after,  tenterhooks  were  driven  in  the 
post — the  tenterhooks  that  remain  to  this  day^ 
witnesses  of  the  prowess  of  Hadleigh  and  of  the 
seaman-like  agility  of  Leigh  in  the  year  1854. 

Soon  the  fight  took  half  the  attention  of  the  fair, 
and  peep-shows  were  overset.  More,  one  corner  of 
the  Living  Skeleton's  booth  gave  way,  and  brought 
the  canvas  about  Mag  Banham's  ears,  and  those  of 
young  Sim  Cloyse,  who  was  taking  her  a-fairing ; 
and  such  was  her  discomposure  and  affliction  that 
gin  and  peppermint  was  necessary  to  restore  her, 
and  she  had  to  be  restored  more  than  once.  Then, 
toward  five  o'clock  or  so,  the  scrimmage  grew  slack  ; 
for  some  bodily  refreshment,  some  measure  of  three- 
penny, is  needed  to  maintain  the  activity  of  the 
most  valorous  champions.  And  when  the  noise  of 
battle  arose  again,  it  was  less  in  volume  than  it 
had  been  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  combat  itself 


54  CUNNING  MURRELL 

not  so  brisk  ;  for  the  measures  of  threepenny  that 
spur  warriors  to  conflict  are  apt  at  the  same  time 
to  impair  their  might,  and  to  pull  away  the  legs 
from  under  them.  Till  at  last,  when  the  final 
skirmish  tailed  away  into  a  meadow  by  the  four- 
wont  way,  somebody  was  inspired  to  drive  a  startled 
and  disconcerted  cow  into  the  meadow  with  the 
shout:  "The  bull !  look  out  for  the  bull!"  Whereat 
the  champions  of  Leigh,  already  somewhat  out- 
numbered and  in  no  very  able  state  to  make 
zoological  distinctions,  went  for  the  nearest  hedge 
and  cleared  it,  and  the  fight  was  done.  For  ex- 
treme distrust  of  bulls  and  a  great  disinclination 
to  remain  in  the  same  field  with  one,  made  a 
singular  failing  of  the  fishermen  of  this  coast ; 
though  one  might  have  been  sadly  put  to  it  to  find 
another  earthly  creature  wherewith  to  daunt  them. 
The  peep-shows  were  picked  up  and  packed  up, 
the  Living  Skeleton  took  down  the  remaining  three 
corners  of  his  habitation,  and  the  Fat  Lady  be- 
thought her  of  supper.  At  the  Castle  Inn  and 
the  Crown  late  rallies  were  made  of  revellers  yet 
unwearied,  and  young  Sim  Cloyse  and  Mag  Banham 
wandered  together  through  Dawes  Heath  Lane, 
amid  gathering  shadows  and  evening  odours,  some- 
what characterised  by  peppermint. 


AN  INTERRUPTED  SONG  55 

At  the  Castle  Inn,  taprooms  and  bars  were  full 
of  them  that  still  thirsted  after  threepenny;  but 
the  parlour  was  given  over  to  a  privileged  group 
of  tradesmen  and  respectabilities,  and  no  three- 
penny entered  there.  There  sat  Prentice,  Steve 
Lingood,  Banham,  Dan  Fisk  the  builder,  and  a 
dozen  others,  some  from  neighbouring  parts,  im- 
mersed in  the  enjoyment  of  pipes,  beverages,  and 
mutual  improvement.  There  was  some  disposi- 
tion to  perceive  a  weakness  in  the  drink,  perhaps 
because  it  really  was  the  custom  to  water  it  on  fair 
day,  perhaps  merely  because  it  was  the  infirmity  of 
jealous  human  nature  to  suspect  it. 

Dan  Fisk,  a  thick-set  humourist  with  a  squint, 
rotated  his  pot  before  him,  as  though  to  enrich  the 
liquor  with  whatever  sediment  there  might  be,  and 
shook  his  head.  "Carl  that  six-ale,  'em  do,"  he 
said,  "  an'  what 's  wuss  they  charge  it.  .  .  .  Well, 
well,  'tis  fair  day  !  " 

'"Tis  poor  stuff,  sarten  to  say,"  Prentice  remarked. 

"Rotgut  an'  belly-wengeance,"  Fisk  assented. 
"  Nothen  moer ; "  and  he  smelt  it  contemptuously. 
"  It  do  seem  that  the  way  to  brew  sixpenny  for  fair 
day  be  to  take  thruppcny  an'  double  it  with  watter. 
That's  bad  as  what  oad  Sim  Cloyse's  wife  used  to 
brew,  an'  we  arl  knowed  that !  " 


56  CUNNING  MURRELL 

"I  den't  know  it,"  Lingood  said.  "She've  been 
dead  nigh  twenty  year." 

"Ah,  you're  a  young  'un.  Oad  Sim  Cloyse's 
missis,  she  were  twice  as  near  as  oad  Sim  were — 
real  Dutch.  She  coon't  bear  to  see  nobody  eat 
nor  drink,  she  coon't.  Why,  when  oad  Sim  kep' 
fowls  (he  took  'em  off  the  widdar  Mead  for  rent) 
she  swore  he'd  ruined  hisself.  'What's  the  good 
o'  giv'n'  they  fowls  corn?'  she  said.  'They  onny 
eat  it!'" 

Dan  Fisk  took  a  pull  or  two  at  his  pipe,  so  as 
not  to  interfere  with  the  laugh,  which  was  pro- 
longed by  Banham,  who  had  heard  the  story  before, 
but  wished  to  be  polite. 

"Well,"  Dan  resumed,  "when  Sim  Cloyse  took 
the  Ploughboy,  along  there  by  the  Pest'us,  afore 
he  made  his  money,  he  putt  his  missis  to  mind 
it,  an'  there  were  precious  little  trade.  Fust  night — 
'Well,'  says  Sim,  'what  ha'  yow  took?'  'Nut  a 
farden,'  says  she  ;  'nut  one.'  Nex'  night  Sim  kims 
in  an' draws  hisself  a  pint  o' six.  '  How 's  trade?  ' 
says  Sim.  '  Wusser  'n  yesterday,'  she  says,  '  'cause 
yow've  bin  an'  drunk  a  pint  o'  six  without  payin' 
for  it,  an'  if  yow 're  ruined  it'll  sarve  ye  right!' 
An'  Sim  never  drunk  no  more  o'  her  beer.  Well, 
night  arter  that  he  kims  agen,  an'  he  says,  '  Trade 


AN  INTERRUPTED  SONG  57 

better?'  he  says.  '  Wusser 'n  ever,'  she  says,  with 
a  snap  ;  '  look  at  that  there  winder ! '  An'  there 
were  the  biggest  winder  arl  smashed  to  shivers. 
'  Why,  how  's  that  ? '  says  Sim.  '  Why,'  says  she, 
'the  fust  customer  kirn  in  to-day.  He  had  a  pint 
o'  thruppeny.  When  he'd  a-gulped  it,  he  went 
pale  as  pudden,  an'  his  eyes  turns  up  into  his  head. 
Then  he  goes  red,  an'  his  eyes  kims  down  agen,  an' 
he  swore  and  ranted,  an'  hulled  the  mug  through 
the  winder  an'  tore  off  like  Bedlam.'  '  Yow  don't 
say  ! '  says  Sim.  '  Well,  praise  be  he  den't  hev  a 
pint  o'  six,  or  he'd  ha'  knocked  the  house  down !'" 

Dan  Fisk  sucked  hard  at  his  pipe  again,  and 
squinted  joyously.  Two  great  thumps  on  the 
steps  without  checked  the  general  guffaw,  and  an 
obscure  man  in  a  corner  took  the  opportunity  to 
say :  "  When  the  bahloon  fell  at  Barl'n'  in  eighteen- 
twenny-eight " 

But  with  that  the  door  burst  open,  and  Robosho- 
bery  Dove,  with  a  third  great  thump  of  his  wooden 
leg,  came  in  in  state.  For  he  was  a  person  of 
consequence  in  the  parlour  of  the  Castle,  and  his 
downsittings  and  uprisings  were  considered  with 
respect.  He  was  a  man  of  travel — or  at  least  he 
had  sailed  in  a  King's  ship  as  a  boy ;  he  was  also 
a  man  of  some  little  substance,  for  he  did  no  work 


58  CUNNING  MURRELL 

but  such  as  pleased  his  leisure  in  his  little  garden  ; 
and  there  was  the  wooden  leg.  It  was  the  practice 
and  tradition  to  account  for  his  left  leg  as  lost  in 
his  country's  service,  and  indeed  it  was  in  a  sea- 
fight  that  the  knee  was  smashed.  But  an  ill-wisher, 
if  Roboshobery  had  had  one,  might  have  declared 
with  truth  that  the  fight  was  a  common  fisherman- 
smuggler  affray  of  the  usual  murderous  sort,  with 
a  crew  of  Dutchmen,  off  the  Great  Sunk. 

"  Good  evenin'.  Master  Dove,"  cried  Fisk.  "  We 
knowed  your  footstep  !  " 

"  Neighbours  ahoy !  "  Dove  answered,  with  his 
customary  salute,  as  he  stumped  across  to  a  vacant 
seat  by  Banham.  His  green  smock  was  gone,  and 
in  its  place  he  wore  his  Sunday  coat — blue,  with 
brass  buttons. 

Preferring  the  rum  he  had  ordered  in  the  bar 
before  the  divers  pots  pushed  toward  him,  Robo- 
shobery Dove,  his  wooden  leg  extended  to  the 
middle  of  the  floor,  hauled  at  a  long  twist-knotted 
cord  till  a  massy  silver  watch  emerged  from  his 
fob.  This  he  took  by  the  bow,  gravely  banged  it 
three  times,  edgewise,  on  the  wooden  socket  that 
clipped  his  thigh,  and  clapped  it  to  his  ear ;  finish- 
ing by  looking  at  the  face  and  announcing  the 
time.     "  Quarter  pas'  nine,  more  or  less,"  he  said. 


AN  INTERRUPTED  SONG  59 

*  an'  glory  be  'tis  fair  day,  or  some  o'  your  wives 
'ood  a-bin  arter  ye." 

Banham  was  made  a  little  less  retiring  by  the 
celebrations  proper  to  the  day.  He  seized  the 
watch  suddenly,  and  shook  it  before  the  company. 
"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  there's  a  watch  !  there  's  a  watch  ! 
That  watch  is  a  werge,  that  is !  'Tis  said  Master 
Dove's  father  gave  fi'  pound  for  that  watch !  An' 
it 's  a  werge." 

"  Ah ! "  Roboshobery  remarked,  complacently 
filling  a  long  pipe,  "that  is.  An'  my  father  gave 
fi'  pun  for  it  at  Foulness.     Give  us  hold." 

"  Master  Dove  be  a  Foulness  man,"  Banham  went 
on,  as  one  proclaiming  an  undeniable  quality  in  his 
hero  ;  "  a  Foulness  man,  as  be  well  knowed." 

"  Ay,  sarten  to  say,"  assented  Prentice, 

There  was  a  silence,  and  the  obscure  man  began 
again — "  When     the     bahloon    fell     at    Barl'n'    in 

eighteen-twe ."     But  here  Jobson,  of  Wickford, 

whose  head  had  been  slowly  inclining  toward  his 
knees  for  some  time,  so  that  he  seemed  like  to 
pitch  forward  out  of  his  chair,  suddenly  sat  up 
and  demanded:  "An'  what's  the  wuss  of  a  man 
if  he  be  a  Foulness  chap?  Eh?  That  arn't  no 
sense  of  a  argyment.  What's  the  wuss  if  he 
be?" 


6o  CUNNING  MURRELL 

"  Ah,  sarten  to  say,"  murmured  two  or  three, 
soothingly. 

"  Arn't  a  Foulness  man  good  as  a  Hadleigh  man, 
or  a  Bemflit  man  or  a  Rochford  man,  or — or  what 
not?" 

"Course  he  be,"  Prentice  grunted  pacifically. 

Jobson  of  Wickford  looked  at  his  friend  for 
several  seconds.  Then  he  said,  "  Arl  right,  then, 
arl  right ! "  let  his  pipe  fall,  and  began  to  nod 
again. 

"  There  ha'  bin  many  fine  men  o'  Foulness,"  said 
Lingood.  "  There  were  the  seven  Aliens,  an'  Jack 
Bennewith,  that  fought  the  London  prizefighter." 

"Ah,"  Banham  struck  in,  "an'  'twere  a  Robo- 
shobery  Dove  o'  Foulness  as  fit  King  Charles  an' 
got  his  head  chopped  ofT." 

"  No,"  objected  Lingood,  "  'twere  King  Charles 
that  lost  his  head,  I  do  read." 

"  An'  Roboshobery  Dove,"  Prentice  corrected, 
"  he  fit  for  King  Charles,  bein'  a  parson,  an'  were 
hulled  out  o'  chu'ch  therefor.  Aren't  that  so, 
Bosh?" 

"  Ay,  'tare,"  Roboshobery  confirmed,  basking  in 
the  general  homage.  "  An'  I  were  christened  such 
arter  him  by  special  recommendation  o'  Master 
Ellwood   the   parson.     ''Tis   arl   a    possibility,'  he 


AN  INTERRUPTED  SONG  6i 

says  to  my  father,  'that  yow  be  descendants,  an' 
anyhow,'  he  says,  "tis  a  fine  handsome  name.'" 

"  That  it  be,"  assented  Banham.  "  I  hoad  a 
pound  there  aren't  anoather  man  with  hafe  sich 
a  name,  not  in  arl  Essex  !  " 

"  An'  so  he  christened  me,"  Dove  concluded. 
"  Ah,  he  were  a  parson  o'  th'  oad  sort,  were  Master 
Ellwood.  Wore  silver  buckles  to  his  breeches,  an' 
slep'  in  his  wig ;  an'  his  walkin'  stick  were  five 
foot  long." 

Some  such  conversation  as  this  was  usual  in 
the  Castle  parlour  when,  Roboshobery  Dove  being 
present,  it  was  desired  to  exhibit  him  for  the  ad- 
miration of  strangers.  Commonly  it  led  to  long 
and  amazing  yarns  of  his  adventures,  from  the 
time  of  the  French  war  down  to  yesterday ;  and 
nearly  always  to  one  or  more  of  his  forecastle 
songs,  of  which  he  had  a  curious  and  diverse  store, 
not  always  composed  to  please  the  squeamish. 
But  to-night  Roboshobery  turned  the  talk  to  the 
war,  and,  by  the  aid  of  the  crumpled  newspaper 
from  his  pocket,  was  presently  expounding  the 
state  of  affairs,  from  Archangel  to  Varna,  to  the 
instruction  and  mystification  of  everybody.  Being 
brought  to  a  stand  by  nothing  but  a  paragraph 
which   set   down    the  damage   done   in   Brahestad 


62  CUNNING  MURRELL 

dockyard  at  350,000  silver  roubles,  and  then  not 
so  much  by  the  doubt  as  to  whether  the  figures 
should  read  thirty-five  thousand  or  three  hundred 
and  fifty  millions,  as  by  the  blank  impossibility  of 
guessing  how  much  a  silver  rouble  might  be. 

Meanwhile,  without,  the  wonted  calm  of  a  summer 
night  fell  about  Hadleigh.  The  Fire-eater,  the  Fat 
Lady,  and  the  Living  Skeleton,  all  were  gone,  and 
the  street  was  empty,  save  now  and  again  for  a 
home-goer  carrying  an  overload  of  threepenny  on 
unsteady  legs.  Except  at  the  Castle  Inn,  most 
were  in  bed  ;  in  the  little  row  of  wooden  cottages 
that  included  Cunning  Murrell's  home,  all  certainly 
were,  save  Murrell  himself,  who,  after  a  long  spell 
of  shadowy  activity  behind  the  blind  of  his  keeping- 
room,  at  length  blew  out  the  rushlight  and  stepped 
noiselessly  out  of  door. 

It  was  one  of  his  customary  night  journeys,  with- 
out a  doubt.  The  umbrella  was  over  his  shoulder, 
and  the  frail  basket  depended  from  its  handle. 
The  curious  of  Hadleigh  had  once  or  twice  seen 
herbs  taken  from  that  frail,  herbs  gathered,  no 
doubt,  at  a  proper  hour  of  night,  and  with  the 
right  formalities  ;  but  what  else  it  might  carry  was 
matter  of  dark  wonder  and  secret  surmise.  Just  as 
were  his  night  walks,  such  as  this. 


AN  INTERRUPTED  SONG  63 

He  walked  in  the  lane  a  little,  still  without  noise. 
Presently  he  crossed  to  a  stile,  climbed  it,  and  went 
off  across  the  meadows  in  the  direction  of  the 
ridge  and  the  sea;  and  so  vanished  unheard  into 
the  night. 

Minutes  went  in  the  deep  stillness  that  is  so  full 
of  tiny  sounds,  of  leaf,  and  grass,  and  beetle  ;  and 
in  the  village  a  dim  light  or  two  went  out.  There 
was  an  effort  at  song  in  the  taproom  of  the  Castle 
Inn,  which  broke  down  in  the  second  verse,  and 
ended  in  laughter  and  debate.  The  hint  was  not 
lost  on  the  parlour  company,  however,  and  pre- 
sently, the  windows  being  open,  Roboshobery  Dove's 
voice  was  audible  from  end  to  end  of  Hadleigh 
and  beyond : — 

A  fnerry  7na?i  d  vioiicy  stood  a-boasting  on  the  quay, 
"  O,  I  have  a  ship,  and  a  galla7it  ship  is  she ; 
And  of  all  the  ships  that  sail  she 's  the  best  upon  the  sea, 
And  she's  sailing  in  the  Lowlands  low." 

Lowlands  !  Lowlands .' 
She 's  sailing  in  the  Lowlands  low  ! 

The  chorus  came  with  such  a  will  that  a  hurried 
and  angry  step  in  the  passage  by  the  inn  was 
unheard,  and  Mrs.  Banham,  come  to  fetch  her 
husband  home,  had  the  parlour  door  open  ere  the 
longest-winded  of  the  company  had  quite  done 
with  the  last  syllable. 


64  CUNNING  MURRELL 

Banham  was  excitable,  but  ten  fair-days,  together 
with  all  their  accompaniments,  could  not  have 
driven  him  to  defy  his  wife.  Instant  on  her 
appearance  he  rose,  with  "  Arl  right,  missis,  arl 
right.  I  were  just  a-comin',"  and,  abandoning  his 
pot,  reached  the  door  ere  she  had  time  to  get  out 
more  than  a  sentence  of  the  shrill  reproaches  she 
was  charged  with.  But  she  spared  him  none  of 
them,  and  the  parlour  company,  with  serious  faces, 
heard  them  as  the  couple  passed  the  window,  and 
heard  them  still  till  distance  overcame  her  voice. 

"  Come,'"'  said  Prentice,  "  never  mind  that.  Next 
werse,  Bosh ! " 

Roboshobery  Dove,  something  discomposed  by 
the  interruption,  took  a  drink,  and  presently  went 
on,  gaining  spirit  and  volume  as  he  went : — 

"  For  I  had  her  built  of  the  good  oak  tree^ 

And  the  name  I  gave  unto  her  was  the  Golden  Vanity^ 
And  I  freighted  her  afid  manned  her,  and  she  bore  away 
to  sea, 
And  she 's  sailing  in  the  Lowlands  low.'" 
Lowlands  !  Lowlafids  I 
She  ^s  satli7ig  ijt  the  Lowlands  low  ! 

The7i  tip  steps  a  sailor-man  a-tvalking  on  the  quay, 
'"''  O,  I  was  aboard  of  your  Golden  Vanity 
When  the  look-out  was  aware  of  a  rover  of  Sallee, 
A7id  we  sunk  her  i?i  the  Lowlands  low^ 
Lo2ulands  /  Low 


AN  INTERRUPTED  SONG  65 

Every  mouth  was  at  its  widest,  when  the  door 
was  dashed  open  again  and  revealed  Banham. 

"  A  run  !  "  he  cried.  "  There  be  a  run  o'  tubs  ! 
'Haps  a  fight.  Coastguard's  burnin'  a  blue  flare, 
Sou'chu'ch  way ! " 

The  chorus  stopped,  but  nobody  shut  his  niouth. 
A  night-run  of  smuggled  goods  was  a  thing  so 
wholly  dropped  out  of  every  man's  experience  of 
late  years  that  for  a  space  nobody  stirred  nor 
spoke,  but  all  gaped  at  the  carrier. 

Roboshobery  Dove,  albeit  his  song  was  ruined, 
was  first  to  start  up,  not  forgetting  to  empty  his 
tumbler  as  he  did  so.  And  in  ten  seconds  from 
that  the  parlour  stood  empty,  and  the  whole  com- 
pany was  running,  hobbling,  trotting,  scuffling,  or 
stumping,  according  to  age  and  circumstances,  into 
the  castle  lane  and  over  the  meadows,  toward 
whatever  point  promised  to  give  a  good  view  along 
the  ridge  and  the  shore.  For  if  the  coastguard 
were  burning  a  blue  light  at  Southchurch,  it  could 
but  be  to  call  help  from  Shoebury  and  Leigh,  and 
that  could  mean  but  one  thing.  It  was  witness  to 
their  forgetfulness  of  ancient  habits  that  all,  with- 
out hesitation,  ran  freely  to  see.  In  the  old  times 
every  man  not  actually  engaged  on  the  run  would 
have  kept  back  lest  he  were  seen  and  suspected. 
E 


66  CUNNING  MURRELL 

Jobson  of  Wickford,  floundering  sleepily  in  the 
rear,  sprawled  over  a  mixen  and  fell  asleep  again. 
But  the  rest  persevered,  and  even  the  last  and 
worst-directed  got  a  glimpse  of  the  distant  light  ere 
it  burned  out.  A  party  of  six  or  eight,  with  Robo- 
shobery  Dove  among  them,  kept  together  and 
made  their  best  pace  along  the  cliff  edge  toward 
Leigh,  Dove  maintaining  the  pace  and  keeping  his 
wooden  leg  clear  of  traps  and  holes  with  a  surpris- 
ing address.  He  judged  the  light  to  have  burned 
somewhere  on  the  cliff  over  the  Mill  Gut,  and  he 
was  puzzled  to  account  for  any  smuggler  who  knew 
the  coast  selecting  for  a  landing  a  spot  so  vastly 
less  advantageous  than  a  dozen  others  thereabout. 

They  kept  their  way  till  Leigh  village  lay  below 
them,  black  and  silent.  Here  they  were  stopped 
by  the  rectory  garden  wall.  The  Nore  light,  out  at 
sea,  and  the  light  on  Garrison  Point  at  Sheerness 
stood  constant  in  the  vast  dark,  and  nearer  moved 
the  lights  of  two  small  ships,  beating  up  to  the 
Thames.  Not  the  lap  of  an  oar  nor  the  fall  of  a 
foot  could  be  heard,  and  curiosity  began  to  slacken. 
It  was  remembered  that  three  more  miles  lay  be- 
tween Leigh  and  the  Mill  Gut,  and  the  flare  might 
even  have  been  burned  farther  along  still.  It  was 
very  late,  and  after  all  there  might  be  nothing  to 


AN  INTERRUPTED  SONG  67 

see.  So  it  was  resolved  to  turn  backs  to  the  shore 
and  strike  across  a  waste  and  two  bean-fields  for 
the  road.  If  there  had  been  a  run,  and  the  tubs 
had  got  through,  they  would  probably  be  brought 
that  way. 

"Though,"  said  Prentice,  "a  run  arn't  likely  on 
Midsummer  night." 

"That  doan't  argufy,"  Dove  answered.  '"Tis 
dark  enough,  an'  there  '11  be  anoather  sort  o'  coast- 
guard here  in  autumn,  when  the  Baltic  fleet 
come  in." 

They  were  crossing  the  waste,  and  picking  their 
way  between  many  gorse  bushes.  Presently  in  the 
midst  of  the  group  a  patient  voice  began  :  "  When 
the  bahloon  fell  at  Barl'n'  in  eighteen-twenny-eight 
I  were  in  a  tunnip  fi'l'  with " 

"  G'lor  !  "  exclaimed  Prentice.     "  Who 's  that  ? " 

"  Where .? " 

"/see  summun  or  summat,"  said  another  of  the 
party.  "  Arl  black.  Stud  up  out  o'  the  fuzz  bush, 
den't  it .?  " 

"  Ay — under  my  nose  a'mos' ;  an'  he  be  gone. 
'Twere  a  man  or  a  ghost,  sarten  to  say ! " 

"Den't  yow  see  him,  Steve  Lingood?" 

"  Ay,  I  thote  I  did.  A  man,  I  'd  say  ;  a 
little  'un." 


68  CUNNING  MURRELL 

All  stood  and  stared  into  the  empty  air  about 
them.  Then  said  Lingood  :  "  Not  hap  to  be  Cun- 
nin'  Murr'll  out  on  his  night  walks,  eh  ?  .  .  .  Else 
he'd  ha'  spoke.  Hey!  Master  Murr'll!  Master 
Murr'll!     Be  that  you?" 

The  echo  came  back  clear  and  sharp  from  the 
rectory  wall,  but  not  another  sound. 

"  Get  along,  neighbours,"  urged  Dove.  "  Man  or 
devil,  we  want  none  of  his  deviltry.     Get  along." 

Across  the  two  bean-fields  they  trudged,  and 
along  the  road  from  Lapwater  Hall  into  Hadleigh  ; 
but  saw  no  more  visions,  of  man,  devil,  nor  blue 
light,  nor  heard  aught  save  their  own  voices. 


CHAPTER    VI 

A    HOUSE   APART 

THE  fair  was  over  and  gone,  but  Hadleigh 
was  left  simmering.  Not  Hadleigh  alone, 
in  fact,  but  Leigh  also  bubbled  with  gossip  and 
conjecture  in  the  matter  of  the  mysterious  blue 
light  on  the  Southend  cliffs;  for  a  mystery  it  was 
found  to  be,  after  all.  The  coastguard  at  Leigh 
had  seen  the  signal,  and  had  hastened  that  way 
from  their  several  patrols,  till  they  had  met  the 
Shoeburyness  men  coming  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion. These,  it  seemed,  were  also  hurrying  in 
response  to  the  flare,  which  they  had  supposed  to 
be  the  work  of  the  nearest  Leigh  patrol.  After 
certain  groping  and  stumbling,  and  a  great  deal  of 
explanation  and  swearing,  it  grew  apparent  that 
no  coastguardsman  had  burned  a  blue  light  at  all, 
and  that  there  was  nothing  whatever  to  call  for 
their  presence  in  force  at  Southchurch.  On  the 
other  hand,  if  the  whole  thing  were  not  a  practical 


70  CUNNING  MURRELL 

joke,  it  was  extremely  probable  that  some  strate- 
gist had  intentionally  brought  them  together  at 
this  spot  in  order  to  throw  the  rest  of  the  coast 
defenceless.  And,  this  probability  realised,  it 
became  expedient  for  every  man  to  scramble  back 
to  his  post  at  the  best  pace  the  darkness  would 
allow,  keeping  eyes  and  ears  open  the  while.  All 
for  nothing,  however.  Not  a  man  was  able  to 
report  a  light,  a  footstep,  or  an  oar-splash  that  could 
be  called  suspicious ;  though  for  not  far  short  of 
three  hours  of  dark  night  the  way  had  been  open 
anywhere  along  seven  or  eight  miles  of  coast,  save 
only  at  the  most  unlikely  places  just  about  South- 
church  and  Southend. 

For  many  days  the  men  of  Leigh  grinned  one  at 
another  and  winked  ;  though,  indeed,  they  were 
as  much  in  the  dark  as  the  coastguard,  who  for  a 
week  afterward  were  dragging  and  "  creeping " 
with  hooks  and  grapnels  all  over  the  Thames 
estuary,  in  the  hope  of  laying  hold  of  a  sunk 
"crop"  of  tubs.  Old  Sim  Cloyse,  in  particular,  was 
very  curious  to  understand  the  business,  and  the 
fuller  of  questions  and  conjectures  because,  as  he 
explained,  he  himself  had  been  in  bed  and  asleep 
when  the  adventure  came  to  pass.  But  at  any 
rate  for  any  cause  or  none,  the  coastguard  were 


A  HOUSE  APART  71 

made  to  look  foolish,  and  were  given  a  deal  of  fruit- 
less work,  and  so  the  men  of  Leigh  and  Hadleigh 
made  merriment  at  their  expense.  Fishermen 
dropped  overboard  elaborate  booby-traps,  old 
baskets,  dunnage,  and  junk,  to  be  hauled  up, 
slowly,  painfully,  and  hopefully,  on  the  drags  and 
hooks  that  were  cast  for  a  more  valuable  catch. 
And  the  searchers  were  greeted,  at  their  landing, 
with  pleasant  and  deferential  inquiries  after  their 
good  fortune. 

"  Good  evenin',  sir,"  a  leather-faced  ruffian  would 
say,  with  a  low  comedy  duck  and  a  pull  at  his  fore- 
lock. "  Any  sport,  sir  ?  Hot  weather  for  draggin', 
sir.     Ketched  any  moer  oad  barr'ls,  sir?" 

But  when  Roboshobery  Dove  next  saw  Prentice 
at  his  garden  gate,  he  jerked  his  thumb  Leigh- 
ward,  and  both  old  stagers  winked.  "Oad  Sim 
Cloyse,  eh  ?  "  said  Roboshobery. 

"  Ay,  he  be  a  deep  'un,"  said  Prentice. 
Still,  by  a  long  comparison  of  notes  among  the 
likely  men  of  Leigh,  it  grew  apparent  that  not  one 
of  them  had  been  "out"  that  night;  and  at  last, 
since  nobody  else  had  lit  the  blue  flare,  it  was 
plain  that  it  must  have  been  the  devil.  This 
opinion,  indeed,  prevailed  in  Hadleigh  ere  lon^, 
perhaps  because  of  a  revived  interest  in  works  of 


72  CUNNING  MURRELL 

darkness  consequent  on  the  notable  detection  of 
Mrs.  Martin's  witchcraft. 

She  had  been  put  to  bed  by  her  niece  on  the 
return  from  Banham's  bakehouse,  still  a  little  sick 
and  dazed.  In  the  morning,  however,  she  had 
risen  with  an  apparent  forgetfulness  of  the  events 
of  the  night,  and  set  about  her  usual  preparations 
for  breakfast,  while  Dorrily,  busying  herself  like- 
wise with  household  matters,  watched  her  furtively, 
dreading  to  make  any  allusion  to  what  was  chiefly 
in  her  mind. 

Presently  her  aunt  said  :  "  Dorrily,  the  bread  be 
very  low.     Den't  us  bake  yesterday  ?  " 

"  No,  aunt,"  the  girl  answered,  anxiously.  "  The 
— the  oven  's  broke,  you  know.     Some  bricks  fell." 

The  old  woman  looked  fixedly  at  her  for  a 
moment,  and  then,  as  with  sudden  recollection, 
said  :  "  Ay,  so  'em  did.  It  do  fare  awkward.  You 
mus'  go  an'  see  Dan  Fisk,  Dorrily,  an'  ask  him 
what  he  '11  charge." 

The  lapse  of  memory  amazed  Dorrily.  She 
wondered  at  first  if  her  aunt  merely  affected  to 
forget  the  affair  of  last  night  by  way  of  ignoring  a 
painful  subject.  But  soon  it  grew  plain  that  this 
could  not  be  the  case. 

"Pity  I  den't  think  of  it,"  Mrs.  Martin  said,  pass- 


A  HOUSE  APART  73 

ing  her  hand  across  her  forehead  and  down  the 
cheek  where  last  night's  scar  was.  "  Some  one  else 
might  ha'  let  me  use  their  oven.  You  better  get 
your  bonnet,  Dorriiy,  an'  ketch  the  meller  at  the 
fower-wont  way." 

The  woman  was  pale  and  drawn,  and  her  odd 
lapse  of  memory  alarmed  the  girl.  So  Dorriiy  set 
out  with  a  troubled  face,  and  it  was  so  that  Robo- 
shobery  Dove  met  her  on  her  way  to  catch  the 
miller,  who  passed  the  four-wont  way  with  bread 
at  eight  in  the  morning,  or  sooner.  She  saw  how 
her  appearance  had  broken  up  the  train  of  singing 
children  and  driven  them  across  the  road,  and  she 
was  not  slow  to  understand.  Plainly  the  Banham 
family  had  been  up  betimes,  and  the  tale  was  abroad. 

She  bought  a  loaf,  and  took  her  way  back  behind 
the  village,  away  from  the  busy  road.  Her  nature 
was,  and  her  life  had  schooled  her,  to  meet  trouble 
with  resolution,  but  now  she  was  conscious  of  an 
added  loneliness  and  an  added  fear.  Both  were 
vague  and  of  an  ill-defined  presence,  but  both  were 
there.  When  one  has  few  friends  the  cutting-offo 
one  leaves  a  great  gap.  The  loss  of  her  father  and 
her  uncle  was  no  more  than  a  childish  memory, 
but  her  parting  with  her  cousin  Jack  a  few  months 
ago  had  left  her  and    her  aunt  very  lonely ;  and 


74  CUNNING  MURRELL 

now,  though  why  she  could  not  guess,  the  events  of 
last  night  and  the  old  woman's  state  this  morning 
affected  her  as  would  the  realization  of  another 
parting. 

Jack  was  away,  in  daily  peril  of  shot  and  shell, 
and,  after  her  aunt,  there  was  nobody,  scarce  an 
acquaintance.  Roboshobery  Dove  was  friendly 
enough,  it  was  true  ;  but  so  he  was  to  everybody 
else,  except  perhaps  Cunning  Murrell,  whom  he 
held  in  a  distant  awe  that  had  a  trace  of  aversion 
in  it.  Steve  Lingood  was  very  kind,  too,  last  night 
especially  ;  though  he  was  curiously  shy  and  indif- 
ferent, and,  it  would  seem,  disliked  to  meet  her,  for 
she  had  seen  him  avoid  it.  And  there  was  one 
other  very  persistent,  but  very  unpleasant,  acquaint- 
ance, young  Sim  Cloyse,  of  Leigh,  who  now,  how- 
ever, seemed  to  be  consoling  himself  with  Mag 
Banham  for  the  rebuffs  he  had  suffered  at  Dorrily's 
hands  ever  since  Jack  had  gone  to  sea.  But  these 
counted  very  little  in  Dorrily's  eyes  ;  Jack  was 
away,  and  now 

As  breakfast  finished,  and  as  other  things  fell  to 
be  dealt  with,  a  certain  abstraction  grew  upon  Mrs. 
Martin,  as  of  one  striving  to  call  to  mind  some 
name  or  some  circumstance  that  persistently  eluded 
the  memory  ;    and  she  spoke  scarce  at  all.     Pre- 


A  HOUSE  APART  75 

sently,  however,  as  she  busied  herself  with  things 
out  of  door,  her  face  cleared  somewhat.  Merry 
noises  came  down-wind  from  the  village,  and  chil- 
dren were  singing.  It  was  not  often  that  any 
inhabitant  of  Hadleigh  could  look  over  his  garden 
fence  without  seeing  a  little  Banham  somewhere, 
and  now  from  the  garden  of  the  black  cottage 
there  were  half  a  dozen  in  sight  at  least.  A  row  of 
four  climbed  on  a  fence  thirty  yards  off,  and  one  or 
two,  smaller  but  more  daring,  skirmished  closer. 
Dorrily  saw  her  aunt  stoop  to  a  gooseberry  bush 
and  gather  a  handful  of  the  fruit.  Little  Jimmy 
Banham,  losing  sight  of  her  when  she  stooped, 
came  up  close  by  the  gate  at  the  moment  when  she 
opened  it,  gooseberries  in  hand.  She  smiled  and 
nodded  at  the  child,  and  offered  the  fruit ;  whereat 
little  Jimmy,  with  a  yelp  of  terror,  turned  and  ran  ; 
and  the  climbers  on  the  fence  got  down  on  the  far 
side. 

The  old  woman  stood,  astonished ;  and  as  she 
stood  there  came  the  cry  from  the  fence — "  Yah  ! 
oad  witch  !     Oad  witch  !  " 

Mrs.  Martin  turned  with  a  dawning  agony  in  her 
face  ;  and  as  she  did  so,  a  lad  across  the  lane  took 
up  the  cry  with  a  grin — "  Oad  witch  !  oad  witch  ! " 
and  shook  a  pitchfork  at  her. 


ye  CUXXIXG  MURRELL 

Dorrily  ran  to  meet  her  aunt  as  she  tottered  up 
the  garden  path,  the  gooseberries  dropping  between 
her  nerveless  fingers  as  she  came.  A  pitiful  revul- 
sion was  in  her  face,  and  it  needed  not  a  word  to 
tell  that  remembrance  had  sprung  to  life  at  the 
blow.  She  fell  into  Dorrily's  arms  and  burst  into 
a  flood  of  tears. 

'■  O,  they  say  I  be  a  witch !  Master  ^lurr'll  an' 
Mrs.  Banham !  Durr'ly.  I  be'n't !  Tis  cruel!  I 
be'n't  I  God  help  a  poor  soul  that  "s  sent  the  son 
from  her  body  to  fight  abroad  ! '' 

The  girl  led  her  in,  with  such  v/ords  of  comfort 
as  she  could  think  of.  But  Sarah  Martin  seemed  to 
hear  none  of  them  ;  to  hear  nothing,  indeed,  but 
the  parting  shout  of  •'■  Oad  witch ! "  from  the  field 
beyond  the  fence,  where  the  Banham  skirmishers 
were  retiring  in  guard  of  the  rescued  Jimmy. 

"  O,  'tis  cruel,  wicked  cruel  I  "  she  sobbed,  rocking 
herself  in  the  chair  to  v,-hich  Dorrily  led  her.  "An' 
they  did  talk  o'  swimmin'  me  in  t'  hoss-pond.  'Tis 
cruel !  They  won't  swim  me  naked,  will  they, 
Dorry,  gal .- "'  And  in  the  passion  of  the  outburst 
the  small  cut  on  the  cheek  bled  afresh. 

"Don't  take  on  so,  aunt  dearie  don't,"  Dorrily 
entreated;  terrified  by  the  violence  of  the  woman's 
grief     "'Tis  no  call  to  take  on  sol     'Tis  only  silly 


A  HOUSE  APART  77 

talk !  Nobody  shall  hurt  ye,  aunt."  She  wiped 
the  mingled  blood  and  tears  from  her  aunt's  cheek, 
and  strove  by  all  means  to  quiet  her.  •'  I  "11  take 
care  of  you,  aunt,  and  there's  Jack — remember 
Jack.  'Tis  only  a  few  months  he'll  be  back 
to  us !  '■ 

Her  son's  name  seemed  to  quiet  her  a  little,  and 
perceiving  this,  Dorrily  brought  two  letters  from  a 
shelf  "  Look  at  his  letters,"  she  said,  "  so  fond  as 
he  be  of  you.  Read  them — and  remember  he  'U  be 
home  to  us  soon  I  "  .  .  . 

There  was  a  harsh  voice  from  the  lane  without, 
and  Dorrily  heard,  with  fresh  fears,  Mrs.  Banham's 
voice  raised  in  shrill  abuse.  She  left  her  aunt 
and  shut  the  door  on  her. 

"  Not  had  punishment  enough,  han't  ye  ? "'  Mrs. 
Banham  bawled  from  the  lane.  "  Not  enough  to 
putt  the  evil  tongue  on  my  gal  Em,  yow  mus'  make 
count  to  catch  my  innocent-born  young  child, 
too !  ■■ 

"Mrs.  Banham,  'tis  all  a  mistake,  I  tell  'ee!" 
Dorrily  pleaded,  from  the  fence.  "  My  poor  aunt 
wishes  no  ill  to  a  souL" 

"  Then  why  do  she  tempt  a  poor  little  child  to 
take  things  from  her  hand,  to  bewitch  him  body 
and  soul .?     No  harm,  sez  she  ! " 


78  CUNNING  MURRELL 

"  She  did  but  ofifer  him  gooseberries  from  the 
bush,"  Dorrily  answered,  "  seein'  him  by  the  gate 
playin'.  She's  ill  an'  broke  down  with  your 
unkind  beliefs." 

"  Ay,  an'  good  reason  !  'Tis  for  the  torment  o* 
such  that  Master  Murr'll  do  work,  an'  I  joy  to 
know  it,  after  what  she  did  to  my  children ! " 

"If  only  you  saw  her  now,  you'd  see  how  cruel 
you  be,"  Dorrily  went  on.  "  'Tis  no  bodily  torment, 
but  'tis  bitter  grief  to  be  said  ill  of.  Will  you  come 
in,  Mrs.  Banham,  an'  see  her  ?  " 

There  was  a  flash  of  fierce  cunning  across  Mrs. 
Banham's  face.  "  So  yow  try  your  tricks  still,  do 
ye,  witches  both?"  she  retorted.  "Putt  my  body 
over  her  threshold,  an'  putt  it  in  her  power,  eh  ? 
Oh,  'tis  well  I  'm  not  new  to  such  deviltry ! 
Witches  both !  Yow  shall  dolour  proper  for  arl,  if 
Master  Murr'll  can  do 't !     Witches  both  !  " 

The  flush  of  anger  was  on  the  girl's  pale  face, 
and  her  black  eyebrows  seemed  joined  by  a  knot. 
"  I  '11  talk  no  more  with  such  a  brawlin'  mawther," 
she  said,  with  sudden  wrath  in  her  voice.  "  Go 
your  way,  Martha  Banham,  an'  your  ill  words  fall 
upon  yourself! " 

Mrs.  Banham  was  as  much  in  fear  as  in  ire,  and 
something  in  the  angry  face  looking  down  on  her 


A  HOUSE  APART  79 

lent  force  to  the  words.  Mrs.  Banham  said  no 
more,  but  backed  across  the  lane  and  turned, 
nervous  fury  in  her  face,  and  her  hands  clasped 
tightly  together,  with  thumbs  concealed  under  the 
fingers  ;  as  is  proper  to  avert  the  malice  of  a  witch 
whose  blood  you  have  not  drawn. 

As  Dorrily  went  back  to  her  aunt,  a  louder  burst 
of  the  unwonted  noise  of  the  fair  up  at  the  village 
prompted  a  thought  that  turned  her  anger  to  dread. 
It  was  fair  day,  and  Hadleigh  was  full  of  Leigh  men, 
boisterous,  brutish,  and  soon  to  be  full  of  drink. 
There  was  no  fair  day  in  recollection  on  which 
the  Leigh  men  had  let  the  afternoon  go  peacefully. 
Of  late  years  a  fight  between  the  two  villages  had 
been  the  common  outcome,  but  she  remembered 
the  tale  of  a  fair  years  ago,  when  they  had  swum 
an  old  man  and  his  wife  for  witches,  with  much 
sport  and  delight.  It  was  the  sort  of  diversion  that 
they  might  turn  to  again  with  the  relish  of  novelty  ; 
and  all  the  village  was  calling  Sarah  Martin  a 
witch.  Dorrily  had  been  terrified  at  the  fair-day 
fights  before,  but  now  she  prayed  for  one  fervently. 
And  as  we  have  seen,  she  had  her  wish,  and  her 
aunt  was  unmolested.  But  she  feared  greatly,  and 
she  resolved  to  take  her  aunt  away  from  the 
cottage  till  nightfall,  to  some  place  where  any  party 


8o  CUNNING  MURRELL 

leaving  the  village  might  be  seen  betimes,  and 
where  hiding  might  be  found. 

Mrs.  Martin  was  still  weeping  when  she  rejoined 
her,  though  less  violently.  "  I  beared  her,"  she 
said,  "  an'  she  carled  us  witches  both.  What  shall 
us  do,  Dorry  gal  ?  " 

'"Tis  no  matter  what  a  silly  mawther  says," 
Dorrily  answered,  forcing  a  cheerfulness  into  her 
voice.  "  We  be  true  women,  and  God  '11  help  us. 
So  we  '11  say  our  prayers  together,  an'  make  holiday 
for  to-day,  away  from  the  fair  an'  the  noise,  an' 
we'll  take  Jack's  letters  to  read  on  Castle  Hill,  an' 
look  at  the  ships." 


CHAPTER    VI  I 

A   STRANGE   CLIENT 

THE  effervescence  of  fair  day  had  subsided, 
though  plenty  was  left  to  talk  about  in  the 
calmer  moods  of  many  months.  The  probability 
of  the  devil  manifesting  himself  in  the  shape  of  a 
blue  light,  for  the  befoolment  of  the  coastguard, 
was  discussed,  and  generally  agreed  upon  ;  when, 
in  the  early  dark  of  an  evening,  a  client  came  to 
Cunning  Murrell. 

He  was  a  big,  powerful  fellow,  and  he  appeared 
from  the  dark  of  the  lane  where  it  sank  over  the 
hill.  The  night  was  no  colder  than  summer  nights 
had  been  that  season,  but  the  man  was  muffled 
heavily,  his  coat  collar  up,  his  cap  down  over  his 
eyes,  and  a  figured  shawl  wound  about  his  face  till 
it  almost  met  the  cap.  As  he  came  to  the  row  of 
cottages  he  stood  and  looked  about  him  sharply. 
There  was  nobody  else  near,  and  it  was  past  the 
common  bed-time  by  an  hour.  There  were  signs, 
F 


82  CUNNING  MURRELL 

however,  of  dim  light  both  upstairs  and  down  in 
Murrell's  cottage,  and  the  stranger  made  for  the 
door  and  rattled  the  latch  gently. 

There  was  a  little  delay,  and  then  a  woman 
opened  the  door  and  looked  out.  It  was  Ann  Pett, 
a  widowed  daughter  of  Murrell's,  who  kept  house 
for  him  ;  a  worn,  draggled  wisp  of  a  woman  of 
forty. 

She  peered  vaguely  into  the  dark  and  asked  : 
"Whois't?" 

"  Master  Murr'll  I  want,"  came  a  gruff  voice, 
made  gruffer  by  the  shawl.     "  Tell  him." 

The  woman  hesitated.  "  I  '11  see,"  she  said  ;  and 
repeated  :  "  Who  is 't  ? " 

"  Customer,  patient — whatever  yow  call 't,"  the 
man  answered  impatiently.  "  Tell  him  'tis  busi- 
ness." 

"Well!"  the  woman  said,  doubtfully,  and  paused. 
And  then  she  shut  the  door. 

The  stranger  was  in  doubt,  and  after  a  moment's 
hesitation  raised  his  hand  to  knock.  But  the  door 
opened  again  and  the  woman  invited  him  in. 

In  spite  of  the  muffler,  the  smell  of  herbs  was 
strong  and  dry  in  the  stranger's  nostrils.  Murrell 
came  from  the  back  of  the  room,  sharp  of  eye  and 
voice.     "  Get  you  upstaers,  Ann,"  he  commanded, 


A  STRANGE  CLIENT  83 

jerking  his  thumb  backward.  "  Or  stay — get  yow 
out  o'  door  ;  never  mind  your  bawn't,  'tis  a  warm 
enough  night."  And  Ann  went  submissively  as 
might  be. 

"Now,  friend,"  said  Murrell,  "sit  yow  there,  an' 
give  me  your  cap." 

His  air  of  command  went  ill  with  his  thin  voice 
and  small  stature,  and  the  big  man  said  gruffly, 
"  I  '11  keep  as  I  am  for  the  present,  meanin'  no 
offence  ; "  and  sat  in  the  chair. 

Murrell  took  the  rushlight  from  the  mantelpiece 
and  set  it  on  the  table,  full  before  the  stranger's 
face  ;  and  the  stranger  instantly  reached  for  the 
candlestick  and  put  it  behind  him,  at  the  table-end. 

Murrell's  keen  eyes  never  left  the  man's  face, 
muffled  as  it  was,  and  now  in  deep  shade.  But  he 
let  the  candle  stay,  and  took  a  seat  opposite  his 
client.  "  Well,"  he  said,  "  is 't  med'sun,  or  what  ? 
Be  you  muffled  agin  the  coad  ? " 

"  'Taren't  med'sun,"  the  other  replied.  "  'Taren't 
med'sun,  an'  'taren't  a  coad  chill.  'Tis  adwice,  an' 
— an' — mayhap  summat  more.  'Tis  well  knowed 
yow  do — summat  more." 

"  Well  ? "  Murrell's  eyes  never  winked  nor 
shifted  from  the  shadowy  patch  that  marked  the 
region  of  the  stranger's  face. 


84  CUNNING  MURRELL 

"  Well,"  the  stranger  went  on  awkwardly,  "  'tis 
for  to  say,  sich  as  things  lost  and  stole,  buried 
property,  fortunes  by  the  stars,  an'  that." 

Murrell  said  nothing,  and  presently  the  stranger 
filled  the  gap  by  adding  "  An'  matters  o'  business, 
pardners  an'  that." 

"  Very  well,"  Murrell  said  thereupon.  "  What 's 
the  property  wuth  ?  " 

"  Property  wuth  ?  "  the  stranger  repeated,  as  one 
taken  by  surprise  and  a  shade  disconcerted. 
"  Property — wuth.     Well,  that  depends." 

"  Ah,"  said  Murrell,  easily,  "  depends  on  where 
you  sell  it,  p'r'aps.     Cost  fifty  pound  to  buy  ?  " 

"  Double  that,"  said  the  other,  rubbing  his  nose 
where  the  muffler  tickled  it.  "  Double  that,  an'  a 
bit  more,  one  way  an'  another.  But  wuth  more — a 
lot  more,  to  sell." 

"Three  or  fower  hundred  pound,  mayhap?" 

"  Ay,  all  that,  an'  over.     But  why  d'ye  ask  ?  " 

"'Tis  likely  I  may  need  it  to  go  in  a  geomantic 
formula,"  said  Murrell,  who  knew  the  words  were 
Greek  to  his  client.  "  An'  now  what  about  your 
pardner?" 

"Pardner?"  exclaimed  the  other,  with  astonish- 
ment. "Why,  I  hevn't  said  I  had  a  pardner, 
hev  I?" 


A  STRANGE  CLIENT  85 

"  'Tis  my  business  to  know  many  things  people 
don't  tell  me,"  Murrell  answered  placidly,  "  What 
about  your  pardner  ?  " 

"  If  yow  know,"  said  the  visitor  doggedly,  and 
with  a  shade  of  suspicion,  "there's  no  need  o'  me 
to  tell  ye." 

"  I  ask  for  what  I  don't  know — yet,"  the  cunning 
man  replied,  placidly  as  before.  "  If  you  den't 
want  to  tell  me  ye  woo'n't  ha'  come ;  an'  if  your 
mind 's  changed  you  can  go  now." 

There  was  a  few  moments'  pause,  and  then  the 
stranger  said,  with  something  of  sulky  fierceness : 
"  I  want  to  know  if  my  pardner  be  a  true  man 
to  me." 

"  Very  well."  Murrell  took  a  scrap  of  paper, 
already  written  close  on  one  side,  from  his  pocket, 
reached  ink  and  pen  from  the  mantelpiece,  and 
wrote  in  a  tiny,  crabbed  hand :  If  pardner  he 
faithfidl. 

"An'  if  not,"  the  client  went  on,  "adwice 
accordin'." 

Murrell  wrote  a  line  below  the  other :  If  not, 
what  to  doe.  Then  he  asked  :  "  An'  where  be  the 
property  ?  " 

The  visitor  shuffled  uneasily.  "  O,  that's  safe 
enough — put  away." 


86  CUNNING  MURRELL 

"Hid?" 

The  man  grunted.     '•  Well,  yes,  'tis,"  he  admitted. 
Murrell  added  another  line  :  Propperty  hid.    "  An' 
wuth  fower  hundred  pound  ? '"  he  asked. 
"Ay.  or  more." 

:Murrell  wrote  :  Worth  above  Apo£.  He  pushed 
the  pen  and  ink  along  the  table,  with  another  scrap 
of  paper.  "  There  be  fower  pints,"  he  said,  '■  an'  by 
this  curis  art  we  take  no  more  than  fower  pints  at 
a  time.  Take  you  the  pen,  good  friend,  an'  make 
you  fower  lines  o'  strokes,  without  counting  ;  a  line 
below  a  line,  an'  stop  when  you  please." 

The  man  took  the  pen  in  a  great  brown,  un- 
accustomed fist,  and  squared  his  elbows.  "  Begin 
here?"  he  asked. 

"  Ay,  begin  a-top.  Now  a  row  o'  strokes,  an'  no 
counting." 

With  slow  labour  the  stranger  traced  a  row  of 
straggling  strokes,  and  then  three  more  rows  below, 
Murrell  watching  his  face  still ;  though  now  the 
keen  look  had  a  tinge  of  something  else — perhaps 
of  contempt. 

The  task  ended,  Murrell  drew  the  paper  toward 
him,  and,  rapidly  scanning  the  rows  of  strokes, 
placed  opposite  each  a  symmetrical  group  of  cyphers. 
This  done,  he  made  more  cyphers  on  the  paper  he 


A  STRANGE  CLIENT  87 

had  first  used,  and  dotted  about  them  with  his  pen, 

like  a  boy  with  a  sum. 

"  Right  witness  ;  left  witness ;  judge.  .  .  .  There 

is  much  curis  information  to  be  read  in  this  figure 

of  geomancy,"  he  said,  poring  over  the  paper,  but 

with  a  sly  upward  glance.     "  First,  I  make  it  you 

come  from — let 's  see — yes,  Sheppy,  but  not  a  native 

there." 

The  man  started.     But  after  a  moment's  pause 

he  replied  :  "  No,  I  be  an  Essex  man." 

"Just  that,"  Murrell  went  on.     "An  Essex  man 

lately  living  in  Sheppy.     A  Leigh  man,  I  do  read. 

An'  your  pardner's  name  be" — here  he  paused, 
and,  with  head  still  bent,  shot  a  glance  at  the  big 
man  as  sly  as  the  other,  and  with  an  added  touch 
of  triumph — "your  pardner's  name  be — Cloyse. 
Why,  that  must  be  Master  Sim  Cloyse,  sarten 
to  say?" 

The  strange  client  half  rose,  but  dropped  heavily 
back  in  the  chair,  his  eyes  wide  in  amaze.  "  Yow 
give  me  that  paper,"  he  demanded,  extending  his 
arm.     "  It  tell  too  much  ! " 

"Pooh!"  the  cunning  man  answered,  keeping 
the  paper  under  his  hand,  "'tis  read  now,  arl  of  it. 
An'  'tis  not  my  business  to  tell  secrets.  Yow  be  a 
Leigh  man  gone  to  Sheppy,  an'  your  pardner  be 


88  CUNNING  MURRELL 

Sim  Cloyse  of  Leigh.  Speakin'  o'  Leigh,"  he  went 
on,  discursively,  "  there  were  a  Sam  Gill  o'  Leigh 
that  went  to  Sheppy  two  or  three  months  back. 
You  know  nothin'  o'  him,  do  ye?" 

"  Yes  " — the  man  was  still  a  little  uneasy,  but  he 
answered  this  question  readily  enough — "yes,  he 
went  on  to  Portsmouth  they  do  say,  an'  shipped 
aboard  a  summat  bound  for  the  West  Indies." 

"Ah,  I  wondered.  Well,  to  the  matter  in  hand." 
Murrell  lifted  the  paper.  "  Your  pardner  be  Sim 
Cloyse,  as  I  said,  an'  you  do  well  to  distrust  him. 
You  be  a  Leigh  man,  lately  living  in  Sheppy,  an' 
your  name" — he  paused,  and  the  man  started 
forward  in  his  chair — "your  name  be  Golden 
Adams!" 

"  G  'lor  !  "  the  stranger  ejaculated,  and  flung  his 
cap  on  the  table.  He  pulled  the  shawl  down  from 
his  face,  puffed  his  cheeks  and  wiped  his  forehead, 
revealing  the  hard,  bronzed  face  of  a  man  of  forty. 
"  Damme,  Golden  Adams  is  my  name,  an'  what 
hev  ye  to  say  to  that  ?  " 

"  Nothen,"  Murrell  answered  quietly.  "  Nothen ; 
I  do  seem  to  ha'  heard  the  name  at  one  time,  no 
more." 

"Well,  an'  what  more  do  ye  find  in  that 
bewitched  paper,  devil  as  ye  be  ? " 


A  STRANGE  CLIENT  89 

"  Devil  ?  "    squeaked    Murrell,  for  his  pride  was 
touched.     "  I  'II  hev  ye  know  I  'm  the  devil's  master 
For  your  hid  property  I  've  more  to  say.     'Haps 
you  '11  find  a  new  pardnen     We  '11  speak  of  that  in 
the  lane.     Come  !  " 

He  brought  his  frail  and  umbrella  from  a  corner, 
and  called  permission  through  the  back  door  for  his 
daughter  to  return.  Golden  Adams  pushed  up  his 
muffler  again,  put  on  his  cap,  and  opened  the  door. 
But  before  following  him  Murrell  found  another 
scrap  of  paper  whereon  to  write  the  note :  Saml. 
Gill  of  Leigh  gone  from  Sheppy  noiu  and  left  Ports- 
mouth by  shipp  for  West  Indes. 

He  put  the  note  carefully  into  a  shapeless  home- 
made pocket-book,  seized  his  frail  and  umbrella 
and  his  glazed  hat,  and  followed  Golden  Adams 
into  the  outer  dark. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

DOUBTS   AND   A   LETTER 

DORRILY  THORN  found  little  comfort  in 
her  aunt's  case.  Sarah  Martin  had  relapsed 
into  the  brooding  state  of  mind  that  had  afflicted 
her  twelve  years  back  or  more,  after  the  loss  of 
her  husband  and  her  brother.  Perhaps  her  habit 
now  was  somewhat  less  passive  than  it  had  been 
then,  for  she  was  beset  by  a  constant  fear  of  her 
neighbours,  exaggerated  beyond  reason  ;  and  the 
charge  she  lay  under  was  not  a  sorrow  wrought 
to  its  end,  but  a  present  and  abiding  affliction, 
of  a  depth  only  to  be  felt  by  a  woman  brought 
up  to  believe  witchcraft  a  very  real  and  hideous 
crime,  in  a  place  where  everybody  about  her  shared 
the  conviction.  She  had  aged,  too,  more  than 
mere  time  would  suggest,  since  her  double  bereave- 
ment. Indeed,  this  was  the  way  on  and  about  the 
marshes,  where  an  inevitable  rheumatism  weighted 
the  years  of  those  past  middle  life  ;  and  now  there 

'JO 


DOUBTS  AND  A  LETTER  91 

was  nothing  for  her  mind  but  her  troubles.  So 
that  she  wept  and  brooded,  and  indulged  real  and 
imaginary  terrors  ;  being  relieved  only  by  intervals 
of  blank  forgetfulness.  And  at  night  she  was 
restless  and  wakeful. 

The  afternoon  on  Castle  Hill  in  some  degree 
soothed  her  for  the  time  it  lasted,  though  Dorrily 
was  hard  put  to  it  to  keep  a  cheerful  face  while 
her  eyes  and  ears  were  strained  toward  the  village, 
and  her  wits  were  busy  devising  ways  of  retreat 
in  case  of  the  approach  of  folk  from  the  fair. 

Jack's  letters  were  read  and  re-read — short,  frank, 
and  ill-spelled,  on  thin  paper,  two  letters  in  each 
envelope,  one  for  his  mother  and  one  for  Dorrily ; 
and  his  mother  found  a  childish  interest  in  specu- 
lating on  each  sail  as  it  rose  on  the  distant  sea- 
line,  with  the  counterfeit  hope  that  it  might  bring 
his  ship  on  some  unforeseen  errand  home.  All  the 
long  sunny  afternoon  they  sat  undisturbed  on  the 
grass  of  the  hilltop,  looking  out  across  the  great 
width  of  green  marsh  and  blue  water,  and  no 
human  creature  came  in  sight  nearer  than  a  man, 
far  down  on  Casey  Marsh,  who  seemed  to  crawl 
like  an  insect,  and  hopped  now  and  again  at  a 
ditch.  There  was  an  unfamiliar  hum  from  over 
the  ridge  behind — the  noise  of  the  fair  ;  and  as  the 


92  CUNNING  MURRELL 

afternoon  went  the  noise  grew  louder  and  more 
varied,  though  still  it  was  a  dull  noise  enough. 
Dorrily  was  a  little  startled  about  this  time  by  a 
fancy  of  her  aunt's  that  somebody  was  in  the  copse 
just  below  the  castle,  watching  them.  There  was 
no  sound,  and  nobody  was  to  be  seen  ;  and  as 
Mrs.  Martin  admitted  that  she  neither  heard  nor 
saw  anybody,  though  she  "felt  quite  sure"  that 
somebody  or  something  was  there,  Dorrily 
concluded  that  it  was  a  mere  baseless  fancy, 
and  turned  eyes  and  ears  again  toward  Had- 
leigh. 

And  so  the  afternoon  grew  into  evening.  The 
sun  went  down  in  blue  and  gold,  and  the  Nore 
light  burst  out  in  the  midst  of  the  darkening  sea. 
The  sounds  of  the  fight's  last  skirmish  had  come 
clearly  from  the  nearer  meadow  whereinto  it  had 
straggled,  and  now  the  village  was  comparatively 
quiet.  With  the  coming  of  dusk  Mrs.  Martin  grew 
uneasy,  and  even  Dorrily  had  no  wish  to  stay  longer 
on  Castle  Hill ;  and  as  they  went  down  toward  the 
lane,  Mrs.  Martin's  apprehensions  of  something  in 
the  copse — something  leaving  it  now,  she  insisted, 
and  following  them — rose  tenfold,  and  hastened 
their  steps,  while  Dorrily's  strained  nerves  took 
alarm   from    each    of  the   tiny  night   sounds  that 


DOUBTS  AND  A  LETTER  93 

the  stillness  brought  to  her  ear.  But  they  reached 
the  cottage  with  no  greater  disquiet,  and  took 
their  rest. 

But  the  days  that  succeeded,  though  easier  for 
Dorrily,  since  she  felt  no  fear  of  actual  violence 
once  the  disorder  of  the  fair  was  over,  saw  little 
change  in  her  aunt.  She  grew  sensitive  to  the 
manners  and  aspect  of  her  neighbours.  Mrs.  Ban- 
ham  remained  sullen,  hostile,  half-defiant ;  but  the 
rest  displayed  a  curiously  timid  deference,  an 
ostentatious  anxiety  to  give  no  offence,  a  wish 
even  to  propitiate,  that  might  have  been  gratifying 
in  other  circumstances ;  though  as  it  plainly  dis- 
guised mere  aversion  and  disgust,  and  was  accom- 
panied by  an  unmistakable  desire  to  keep  at  the 
safest  possible  distance,  its  effect  was  to  cause  a 
suppressed  torment  and  irritation  which  increased 
with  time.  And  Mrs.  Martin's  angry  looks  and 
frowns  askance  were  popularly  taken  for  plain 
proofs  of  witchcraft  in  themselves. 

But  her  angry  looks  were  for  the  outer  world 
alone,  to  which  she  lifted  her  bravest  face.  At 
home  she  was  pensive  and  abstracted,  and  now 
Dorrily  felt  indeed  that  loneliness  that  she  had 
vaguely  apprehended — a  loneliness  that  made  her 
head  of  the  little  household,   and    was   loneliness 


94  CUNNING  MURRELL 

only  in  the  sense  that  unaided  and  uncounselled 
she  must  bear  the  burdens  of  both. 

Almost  every  morning  she  went  up  to  the  village 
to  meet  the  postman  from  Rochford,  in  hope  that 
there  might  be  a  letter  from  Jack.  The  journey 
was  fruitless  nine  times  out  of  ten  and  more,  for, 
apart  from  the  normal  irregularity  of  mails  from 
a  cruising  ship,  each  letter  cost  threepence  in 
postage,  and  that  for  a  quarter  of  an  ounce.  By 
a  Queen's  ship,  indeed,  half  an  ounce  was  brought 
at  the  same  price,  but  nothing  came  and  nothing 
could  go  at  less  than  threepence.  For  this  reason, 
too,  Dorrily's  letters  to  Jack  were  few,  and  for  this 
reason  Jack's  own  letters  were  short.  For  a  quarter 
of  an  ounce  is  not  much,  even  of  thin  paper,  and 
when  that  was  divided  into  two  letters,  and  each 
was  written  in  Jack's  large  and  laborious  hand, 
the  space  available  was  soon  covered. 

There  was  a  letter  a  week  after  the  fair.  That 
morning  the  old  postman  was  brisker  than  com- 
mon, or  perhaps  he  carried  a  lighter  load,  so  that 
he  had  reached  the  post-office,  opposite  the  Castle 
Inn,  ere  Dorrily  was  at  the  lane  corner,  and  was 
coming  away  as  she  emerged  into  Hadleigh  street. 
"  One  for  you,"  he  said  with  a  grim  nod,  jerking 
his  thumb  backward. 


DOUBTS  AND  A  LETTER  95 

The  postmistress  was  sorting  the  little  bunch  of 
of  letters,  nine  or  ten  for  Cunning  Murrell,  three 
or  four  for  the  rest  of  the  village ;  for  Murrell 
alone  had  thrice  as  much  correspondence  as  the 
remainder  of  Hadleigh,  and  this  indeed  was  some- 
thing below  his  average  delivery.  Sickness — of  men 
and  cows  :  bewitchment — of  people  and  churns  : 
and  losses — of  clothes,  watches,  crops,  and  lovers  : 
these  afflictions  brought  him  demands  and  inquiries 
by  letter  from  all  Essex,  much  of  Kent,  and  even 
from  London,  where  Essex  maidservants  had  carried 
his  name. 

The  postmistress  hastily  put  down  a  folded  letter 
with  a  vast  smear  of  sealing  wax  behind  it,  the 
gaping  end  of  which  had  been  applied  to  her  eye: 
for  Murrell's  letters  were  the  most  interesting  that 
came.  "  Good  morning,  Miss  Thorn,"  she  said 
sweetly  ;  "  there 's  a  letter  for  you.  Here  it  is. 
Beautiful  weather,  isn't  it  ?  Good  morning !  " 
And  Dorrily  hated  her  for  her  civility,  for  it  was 
the  civility  of  the  villagers  who  feared  to  anger 
her  aunt.  The  last  letter  she  had  called  for  that 
bony  woman  had  flung  at  her  with  no  sounds  but. 
a  growl  and  a  sniff. 

She  thought  she  had  seen  Steve  Lingood  at  his 
smithy  door  ;  but,  if  so,  he  had  gone  in.     Surely  he 


96  CUNNING  MURRELL 

was  not  afraid  of  her?  But  here  was  the  letter, 
and  the  pressing  business  now  was  to  get  into  the 
quiet  lane  and  tear  it  open.  For  Jack  wrote 
alternately  to  Dorrily  and  his  mother,  though  he 
sent  each  a  letter  in  the  package  ;  and  this  was 
addressed  to  Dorrily  herself.  She  waited  till  she 
had  passed  Murrell's  cottage— for  no  particular 
reason,  for  he  was  never  visible  at  this  time  in 
the  morning — and  then  broke  the  seal.  Her  aunt's 
letter  she  thrust  into  her  pocket,  and  sat  on  a 
stile — the  stile  the  villagers  had  crossed  in  their 
pursuit  of  the  blue  light — to  read  her  own. 

Hadleigh  street  was  a  large  part  of  a  mile  long, 
so  that  when  she  had  left  the  post-office  she  had 
not  perceived  Roboshobery  Dove  in  the  distance. 
He  had  seen  her,  however,  and  his  keen  sea-eyes 
had  detected  the  letter  in  her  hand.  He  scented 
war  news,  and  hurried.  So  it  was  that  just  as 
Dorrily  had  mastered  the  few  sentences  that  were 
all  Jack  could  find  to  say.  Dove  stood  before  her, 
telescope  under  arm, 

"Good  noos,  my  dear?"  he  asked.  "I  den't 
come  up  till  I  see  yow'd  a-got  to  the  end.  'Haps 
there  be  nothen  in  it  but  what  aren't  for  me  to 
see,  eh?  Hearts  an'  darts,  an'  love  an' — why  I 
rhymes  with   love   myself,  sink  me,  though  I  bin 


DOUBTS  AND  A  LETTER  97 

a  bacheldor  all  my  life !  Aren't  the  Phyllis  laid 
aboard  o'  nothen  ?     Took  no  prizes  ?  " 

Dorrily  took  the  letter  with  circumspection,  and 
folded  some  lines  back.  "  He  says  he  fare  well, 
never  better,  an' — 'We  been  playin'  at  bonfires 
here,  at  two  places  nobody  can't  spell  an'  not 
many  can  say ;  bigger  bonfires  than  ever  they 
had  on  Hadleigh  common,  with  ten  thousan' 
barrels  o'  tar  at  one  place  an'  eighteen  thousan' 
at  the  other;  not  as  I  counted  them,  but  that's 
what  the  captain  says,  an'  a  midshipman  told  me. 
I  went  ashore  with  two  hundred  others  at  the  first 
place,  an'  it  was  a  flare ;  we  burnt  eight  new 
craft.  The  people  cut  off,  though  we  weren't  let 
to  touch  them.  Now  we  are  to  sail  to  a  place 
called  Sweaborg,  where  they  say  the  Ruskies  have 

got  men  of  war  in  the  harbour.     An'  so  now '" 

Dorrily  stopped  suddenly,  doubled  the  letter  up,  and 
concluded  shyly,  "An'  that's  all.  Master  Dove." 

"O,"  Roboshobery  grunted,  "that's  all,  is  it? 
Werry  good  all  the  same,  though  I  think  I  read 
summat  about  that  bonfirin'  in  the  Chronicle  las' 
week ;  'special  as  /  doan't  remember  neither  o' 
the  names  too,  same  as  he.  Well,  my  dear,  den't 
I  say  he  was  arl  right?  Den't  I  say  it?  Takin' 
his  fun  like  as  in  a  play  ;  and  by  this  time  I 
G 


98  CUNNING  MURRELL 

lay  he'll  be  a  boardin'  o'  they  men-o'-war  like — 
like — like  a  cartload  o'  skyrockets  !  "  And  Robo- 
shobery  Dove  made  so  vigorous  a  cut  and  guard 
with  his  telescope  that  it  shot  out  to  full  length,  and 
gave  the  movement  an  undesigned  versimilitude. 

Dorrily  sighed  as  she  got  down  from  the  stile. 
"  Ah,"  she  said,  "  'tis  a  long  time  to  wait  for  him 
in  danger.  An'  we  in  trouble  enough,"  she  added, 
half  to  herself 

The  old  man  looked  curiously  at  her,  and  then 
stealthily  over  his  shoulder  in  the  direction  of 
Murrell's  cottage.  "D'ye  know,"  he  said,  drop- 
ping his  voice  as  though  he  feared  the  cunning 
man  might  hear,  "  d'  ye  know  what  he  says  ? " 

"  Ay,  we  know  it  well  enough,  an'  bitter  cruel  it 
be  for  Cunnin'  Murr'U  to  say  it." 

Roboshobery  Dove  nodded,  winked,  whistled 
softly,  and  rubbed  a  hand  over  his  left  ear.  "  An' 
yet,"  he  said, "  he  be  woundly  clever,  sarten  to  say." 

They  walked  a  few  steps  down  the  lane.  "  Ques- 
tion are,"  Dove  went  on,  musingly,  "  who  they  be. 
We  know  there  must  be  three — ollis." 

"  Three  what  ? " 

"  Three  witches  in  Hadleigh — for  ever." 

Dorrily  curled  her  lip,  "  An'  who  says  that  ?  "  she 
asked,  though  indeed  she  knew. 


DOUBTS  AND  A  LETTER  99 

"Why,"  Dove  responded,  his  surprise  bringing 
him  half  round  on  the  axis  of  his  wooden  leg, 
"he  say  so  hisself;  Cunnin'  Murr'll ;  witches  in 
Leigh  for  a  hunder'  year,  three  in  Hadleigh  for 
ever  ;  an'  nine  in  Canewdon." 

Dorrily  knew  the  saying  well  enough  ;  but  she 
said,  "  Then  'tis  pity  Master  Murr'll  can't  find 
them  all  out,  cunnin'  as  they  call  him,  'stead  o' 
puttin'  shame  on  a  good  woman." 

Roboshobery  Dove  walked  on  a  little  way, 
eyeing  the  girl  furtively  as  he  went.  Then 
he  remarked,  "But  'tis  sartin  he  be  a  woundly 
clever  man — woundly  clever.  Why,  the  way  he  do 
with  warts  fair  beat  a  man — looks  at  'em,  an'  they 
go.  An'  when  Susan  Jecks's  gown  were  stole  off 
t'  hedge  he  charmed  the  thief  for  to  bring  it  back 
there  quick  an'  soon — anyhow  three  mornin's  arter. 
Yes,  'tis  sarten  he  be  a  woundly  clever  man." 

Dorrily  stopped  and  turned.  "  Why,  Master 
Dove,"  she  said,  "you  don't  tell  me  that  you  believe 
it,  too  ?  " 

The  surprise  and  pain  in  her  face  and  voice 
afflicted  the  old  sailor  with  some  confusion  and 
a  touch  of  shame.  "  Lord  bless  ye,"  he  answered, 
hastily,"!  den't  say  that.  No,  no.  But  it's  like 
that   Master   Murr'll,  so   deadly  clever   as   he   be, 


lOo  CUNNING  MURRELL 

hev  got  hisself  that  mixed  up  with  the  devil  that 
he  doan't  ollis  know  how  he  do  stand.  There 
aren't  never  been  no  little  thing — no  little  ill- 
wishin',  nor  nothin'  as  might — as  might " 

"  Nothing  at  all,  Master  Dove,"  Dorrily  inter- 
rupted, "nothing  but  that  we're  lone  women,  an' 
our  man  be  away  on  the  seas  fightin'  an'  offerin' 
his  life  for  such  as  mistrust  us." 

Roboshobery  stared  for  a  moment,  and  then 
burst  out,  "  Good  gal !  good  gal !  "  with  three  slaps 
of  great  weight  on  Dorrily's  shoulder.  "  Good  gal ! 
So  he  be,  an'  yow  be  a  good  mate  for  him.  Don't 
yow  give  two  thotes  to  none  of  'em,  damn  'em  !  I 
den't  mean  more  than  make  an  inquiration.  Why 
I  fit  the  French  myself — so  high  !     So  high  !  " 

For  by  Roboshobery 's  system  of  ratiocination 
any  misgiving  as  to  Mrs.  Martin  was  quieted  by 
the  reflection  that  her  son  was  fighting  his  country's 
enemies  ;  was  set  altogether  at  rest  by  the  con- 
sideration that  he  himself  had  once  done  the  same 
thing ;  and  was  swept  wholly  out  of  existence  by 
the  fact  of  his  inferior  stature  at  the  time.  So  he 
stumped  off  cheerfully  to  take  his  station  at  the 
castle  loop-hole,  and  Dorrily  made  for  home. 

Her  aunt  was  nowhere  in  the  cottage  nor  in  the 
garden,  nor  could  Dorrily  see  signs  of  her  in  any 


DOUBTS  AND  A  LETTER  loi 

place  visible  therefrom,  till  she  descended  into  the 
small  hoppit  across  the  lane,  beyond  which  lay  the 
castle  barn  ;  and  then  she  saw  that  the  door  of  the 
crazy  old  shed  stood  open. 

In  a  flash  she  remembered  the  day  when  neigh- 
bours had  found  her  aunt  there, when  she  was  newly  a 
widow.  Dorrily  hurried  across  the  hoppit,  and  there 
indeed  stood  her  aunt  in  the  barn,  with  her  face 
turned  upward,  steadily  regarding  the  beam  from 
which  the  man  had  hanged  himself  forty  years  back. 

"  Aunt,  here  is  a  letter — from  Jack." 

The  woman  made  no  sign  till  the  words  were 
repeated,  and  then  she  merely  turned  dull  eyes  on 
her  niece  and  said  :  "  Twere  here  that  Masterman 
hanged  himself,  after  leavin'  the  black  cottage  an' 
sayin'  he  'd  be  back  soon.  D'you  ever  hear  him 
now?  ...  I  wonder  if  'tis  arl  peace  with  such  ?  " 

"  Come  away,  aunt,"  the  girl  cried,  catching  her 
by  the  arm.  "See?  This  is  a  letter  from  Jack. 
Come  away  and  read  it." 

Mrs.  Martin  drew  her  hand  down  over  forehead 
and  eyes,  and  said  :  "  A  letter  ?  O  ay,  from  my 
boy  Jack,  at  the  wars.  'Twould  seem  he  be  still 
livin',  then." 

She  followed  Dorrily  quietly,  and  presently  was 
spelling  out  her  letter  with  placid  interest. 


CHAPTER    IX 

AMAZEMENT   AND   A   PAIL 

LEIGH  STRAND— which  was  the  older  and 
more  proper  name  of  the  High  Street — 
was  an  amazing  lesson  in  mediaeval  domestic  archi- 
tecture. Its  southern  side  was  built  on  the  sea- 
shore, and  high  water  set  the  back  yards  and 
outhouses  awash.  The  conformation  of  the  shore 
settled,  roughly,  the  contour  of  the  street  on  this 
side,  with  violent  modifications  occasioned  by  the 
fact  that  no  two  houses  were  of  the  same  size,  nor 
had  a  common  line  of  frontage ;  the  contour  of  the 
north  side  was  settled  on  the  principle  of  complete 
disagreement  with  that  of  the  south.  The  houses 
pushed  their  gables  in  every  possible  direction,  an 
irresolute  crowd  ;  some  interiors  were  attained  by 
perilous  ascent  of  brick  steps,  worn  and  broken, 
others  by  a  precipitous  flounder  through  a  low 
doorway  and  down  a  doubtful  stair.  There  was 
no  brick  house  from   end  to  end,  and  rain-leaks, 

102 


AMAZEMENT  AND  A  PAIL  103 

in  roofs  and  elsewhere,  were  stopped  with  daubings 
of  pitch,  patches  of  which  diversified  every  red 
roof  in  sight ;  for  it  would  seem  to  be  a  principle 
that  everything  in  Leigh,  no  matter  what,  must  be 
repaired,  when  repair  was  needed,  exactly  as  if  it 
were  a  boat.  The  floor  of  the  street  was  mere 
dirt — usually  mud — and  the  upper  storeys  over- 
shadowed it  all  day.  It  was  here,  near  the  little 
square  where  boats  were  beached,  and  where  linen 
fluttered  all  day  from  lines  stretched  over  the 
water,  that  old  Sim  Cloyse's  house  stood,  with  a 
narrow  alley  at  its  side  and  a  view  of  a  tumble- 
down shed  standing  black  against  the  shining  sea 
that  lay  beyond.  It  was  a  larger  house  than  most 
thereabout,  heavily  framed  and  quaintly  gabled, 
and  it  was  one  of  those  the  entrance  whereof 
involved  descent. 

The  door  opened  briskly,  and  Cunning  Murrell 
appeared  in  the  opening,  back  foremost.  Old  Sim 
Cloyse  was  showing  him  out  with  no  waste  of 
ceremony. 

"Then  you'll  make  no  terms,  nor  say  nothen  ?  " 
the  little  man  asked. 

"  Nothen  at  arl,"  Cloyse  answered  stolidly.  He 
was  a  broad-faced,  small-eyed  man,  with  an  ex- 
pression, if  it  could  be  called  one,  of  wooden  im- 


104  CUNNING  MURRELL 

passivity.  He  stood  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  stout  and 
clumsy,  with  one  hand  in  a  trousers  pocket  and  the 
other  on  the  door-handle.  "  Nothen  at  arl.  An'  as 
for  terms,  there  aren't  nothen  to  make  terms  about." 

Murrell  retreated  up  one  step,  and  said  :  "  Your 
Sheppy  pardner " 

"  Pardner  in  Sheppy  ? " 

"  Ay,  in  Sheppy,  though  Essex  born " 


"  Got  no  pardner  nowhere."  The  door  came  a 
little  closer. 

"  Your  pardner,"  Murrell  shrilled  on  persistently, 
"  hev  left  it  with  me  to  deal  by  way  o'  lawful  spell 
an'  conjuration  with  arl  that  use  him  ill,  or  do 
make  unfair  use  of  common  property,  hid  or  not ; 
an'  arl  do  know  my  powers  for  heal  or  for  hurt, 
whether  by " 

"Dunno  what  yow  mean."  And  the  door  was 
shut  in  Cunning  Murrell's  face. 

He  stood  for  a  second,  dumbfounded  ;  and  then 
turned  up  the  street,  with  an  angry  frown  on 
his  face. 

He  was  defied  and  set  at  naught.  To  him  it 
was  amazing.  In  ail  his  world  his  word  was 
gospel,  and  people  trembled  before  him.  Not  a 
thief  in  Essex  who  had  stolen  linen  from  a  hedge 
or   a   watch    from    a   drunken    man's    pocket   but 


AMAZEMENT  AND  A  PAIL  105 

would  hasten  to  restore  his  plunder  at  the  threat 
of  Murrell's  subtle  sciences  ;  not  a  man  or  woman 
with  a  bewitched  or  bedevilled  child,  or  cow,  or 
churn,  or  horse,  but  was  certain  of  delivery  at  the 
hands  of  Cunning  Murrell.  His  own  belief  in  his 
miraculous  powers  was  sincere  enough,  despite  the 
tricks  and  dodges  wherewith  he  sustained  his 
credit.  He  was  seventh  son  of  a  seventh  son, 
which  was  a  sufficient  foundation  for  his  confidence, 
though  the  acquiescence  of  his  neighbours  and  the 
deference  they  gave  him  would  have  been  enough 
to  generate  it,  with  no  other  foundation  whatever. 
In  all  his  previous  meddlings  among  the  affairs  of 
the  people  about  him  he  had  never  known  his 
threats  of  thaumaturgic  punishment  to  fail.  And 
now  he  was  stolidly  set  at  naught,  put  aside,  dis- 
regarded. His  keenest  hints,  his  astutest  questions 
fell  helpless  before  the  blockish  impenetrability  of 
old  Sim  Cloyse.  It  was  a  new  experience  for 
Murrell,  and  an  exasperating.  Nevertheless  he 
might  have  felt  in  some  degree  comforted  if 
he  could  have  seen  Cloyse's  face  the  instant  the 
door  had  closed  between  them.  For  it  burst  into 
a  figure  of  extreme  and  rather  ludicrous  alarm, 
though  the  emotion  was  not  in  the  least  of  a 
superstitious  character. 


io6  CUNNING  MURRELL 

As  Cunning  Murrell,  however,  spite  of  his  subtle 
learning,  was  unable  to  see  through  the  door  behind 
him,  he  went  his  way  in  moody  anger,  and  emerged 
from  Leigh  at  the  Strand  end,  where  a  path  led 
up  among  the  rank  grasses  of  the  hills  toward 
Hadleigh. 

It  was  early  indeed  for  Murrell  to  be  abroad,  and 
the  day  was  not  propitious.  He  reached  home 
with  his  temper  no  whit  softened,  and  he  found 
his  belated  dinner  of  bacon  and  potatoes,  cold, 
greasy,  and  uninviting.  "  Ann  Pett !  "  he  called — 
for  he  always  signalised  bad  temper  by  giving  his 
daughter  her  full  name  by  marriage — "  Ann  Pett ! 
I  will  not  hev  this  dinner.  Rumball  hev  killed  a 
sheep  ;  go  get  me  a  sweetbread." 

Ann  Pett  came  in  frcm  the  back,  wiping  soapy 
hands  on  her  apron.  Then  she  held  out  one,  with 
the  remark,  "  I  han't  got  but  a  ha'penny." 

Murrell's  jaw  fell.  "  Nothen  but  a  ha'penny  !  " 
he  repeated.  "Yow  den't  tell  me  'twere  runnin' 
so  low."  His  hand  went  by  instinct  to  his  pocket, 
though  he  knew  already  that  nothing  was  there. 
Then  he  flung  his  hat  on  the  table,  and  sat  down 
before  the  greasy  bacon.  "  Get  about  your  washin', 
woman,"  he  commanded. 

Ann  Pett  vanished,  and  her  father  set  about  his 


AMAZEMENT  AND  A  PAIL  107 

dinner  with  what  appetite  he  might.  He  was  ex- 
posed to  such  pecuniary  surprises  by  his  habit  of 
disregarding  money  matters,  for  he  was  so  much 
of  an  artist  as  to  love  his  trade  for  itself,  and  for 
the  power  and  consideration  it  won  him  ;  so  that 
he  would  rather  meddle  and  mystify  for  nothing 
than  not  meddle  at  all.  Else  he  might  have  been 
a  man  of  some  affluence,  as  affluence  went  in  Had- 
leigh.  But  now  it  was  plain  that  a  little  money 
must  be  raised  somehow,  and  Cunning  Murrell 
pushed  aside  his  plate  at  last  with  a  sigh  for  the 
philosopher's  stone  that  was  beyond  the  reach  of 
his  arts,  and  a  hope  for  an  early  client. 

He  pulled  open  a  drawer,  crammed  with  papers, 
every  one  crowded  with  his  tiny  crabbed  writing, 
many  with  straggling  figures — horoscopes,  sigils, 
and  figures  of  geomancy ;  for  indeed  he  worked 
by  all  the  rules  of  art  as  much  as  by  his  native 
acuteness,  and  here  and  in  his  great  chest  of  books 
and  notes  was  represented  the  outcome  of  many 
years  of  conscientious  study.  On  some  of  those 
papers  which  were  illuminated  by  no  figures,  con- 
jurations and  prayers  were  written,  all  conceived  in 
the  most  devout  spirit  of  white  magic,  and  all  calling 
down  divine  wrath  on  the  devil  and  his  agents  and 
all  their  doings,  downsittings  and   uprisings  ;  and 


io8  CUNNING  MURRELL 

on  others  were  recorded  all  and  any  the  most 
commonplace  particulars  wherewith  he  might  have 
become  acquainted,  of  the  circumstances,  family 
relations,  and  matters  of  private  life  of  every  sort, 
of  anybody  whatsoever.  For  all  these  things  there 
was  no  order,  no  index — nothing  but  their  native 
confusion.  Nevertheless  it  was  a  matter  of  habit  or 
instinct  with  Murrell  to  put  his  hand  on  the  note 
he  needed  with  scarce  a  second's  groping,  whether 
in  the  great  chest  or  in  any  of  the  brimming  boxes 
and  drawers  in  the  place. 

He  pushed  aside  the  heaped  papers,  and  drew 
from  under  them  a  thin  book  of  straggling  manu- 
script, of  octavo  size,  scrawled  throughout  with 
uncouth  figures  of  seals,  sigils,  pentacles,  char- 
acters, and  intelligences  ;  set  about  thick  with  faded 
writing,  some  his  own,  some  that  of  the  forgotten 
necromancer  whose  property  the  book  had  been 
originally.  Here  were  the  conjurations  and  con- 
siderations proper  to  every  day  and  night  of  the 
week  and  every  month  of  the  year  ;  and  it  was  his 
way  to  keep  them  in  memory  by  conning  them  over 
at  odd  times.  He  had  put  his  heavy  iron-rimmed 
goggles  on  his  nose,  and  turned  the  yellow  page 
where  the  sunlight  through  the  little  casement  fell 
on  it,  when  there  was  a  timid  click  at  the  latch. 


AMAZEMENT  AND  A  PAIL  109 

Murrell  pursued  his  study,  his  mouth  noise- 
lessly forming  the  words  as  he  went ;  for  it  was 
his  daughter's  business  to  attend  the  door.  But 
plainly  she  did  not  hear,  and  presently,  lifting  his 
eyes,  he  perceived  dimly  through  the  curtains  that 
some  short  figure,  probably  a  woman's,  was  re- 
ceding irresolutely  from  the  step.  Now  Murrell's 
most  profitable  clients  among  the  women  were  not 
uncommonly  the  most  timid,  and  he  must  not  lose 
this  one.  So,  letting  go  his  dignity,  and  keeping 
his  reproof  of  Ann  Pett  for  a  more  favourable 
moment,  he  rose  and  opened  the  door. 

A  young  woman  in  a  print  gown  and  white  sun- 
bonnet  stood  without,  carrying  a  baby.  A  fair 
though  a  commonplace  young  woman,  with  an 
anxious  and  sorrowful  face.  Murrell's  sudden 
appearance  before  her,  terrible  in  large  goggles, 
increased  her  discomposure,  and  she  receded  an- 
other step,  murmuring  indistinct  apologies. 

"Is't  for  askin'  or  healin'  you're  come?"  he 
asked,  in  the  mild  tone  wherewith  he  encouraged 
the  diffident.  Though,  indeed,  he  knew  the  girl, 
as  it  was  his  way  to  know,  or  to  know  of,  every- 
body ;  and  he  had  the  means  for  a  good  guess  at 
her  errand  ;  albeit  what  he  knew  did  not  warrant 
the  hope  of  great  profit. 


no  CUNNING  MURRELL 

"  Beggin'  your  pardon,  Master  Murr'll,"  the  girl 
said,  with  an  effort,  "'tis  a  question  I  do  want 
to  ask." 

"  Come  yow  in,  my  child,  an'  I  will  try  my  best." 

Murrell  stood  aside  to  admit  her,  but  still  she 
hesitated.  Even  more  faintly  than  before  she 
asked  :  "  How  much  do  'ee  charge?" 

"  'Tis  but  what  you  can  afford,"  the  cunning  man 
replied.  Plainly  it  was  a  poor  customer,  as  he  had 
feared.  "  The  skill  God  hev  given  me  be  for  rich 
an'  poor,  an'  they  pay  by  count  o'  their  means, 
from  golden  guineas  down  to — to  sixpences."  He 
judged  it  useless  to  put  the  minimum  higher. 

The  girl  followed  him  in,  timorous  still,  and  the 
baby  coughed  and  wailed  weakly  in  the  pungent 
air,  laden  with  the  dust  of  a  thousand  drying  herbs. 
"  Sit  you  down,  now,  an'  tell  me  your  name  an' 
the  question  you  ask,"  Murrell  said,  taking  pen 
and  paper. 

"  Dorcas  Brooker,"  the  girl  said,  and  paused. 

Murrell  wrote  the  name,  and  waited. 

"  'Tis  about — about  my  young  man."  She  looked 
down  at  her  knees,  and  her  face  took  on  a  heavy 
flush. 

"  Ah  !  "  Despite  himself  there  was  a  dry  touch 
in  Murrell's  voice.     He  had  been  pretty  certain  of 


AMAZEMENT  AND  A  PAIL  iii 

it;  and  what  was  coming  now  he  knew  well 
enough. 

"  I  want  to  know  where  he  be,  an'  when  he  will 
come  to  me." 

"Name?"  asked  the  old  man. 

"Samuel  Gill." 

"Whereof?" 

"  Leigh.  But  he  hev  been  in  Sheppy  of  late, 
though  I  get  no  word  of  him." 

Needless  questions  both,  but  Murrell  noted  the 
answers  carefully,  all  the  same.  Then  he  looked 
up,  and  pointed  with  his  pen  at  the  baby.  "  And 
that  ?  "  he  queried. 

Her  head  drooped  lower,  and  she  lifted  the  baby 
as  though  to  hide  her  face,  till  their  cheeks  touched, 
and  she  kissed  the  child  passionately  twice  or  thrice, 
so  that  the  little  voice  woke  again  in  a  feeble  cry. 

"His?" 

She  lifted  her  face,  all  tear-stained,  for  a  moment, 
and  wailed,  "  Ees !  ees  it  be ! "  and  dropping  her 
head  again  she  rocked  the  child  to  and  fro.  "  An' 
O,  it  be  a  bitter  shame  an'  sorrow  for  a  poor 
gal!" 

Murrell,  who  had  had  more  than  twenty  children 
of  his  own,  and  had  lost  and  forgotten  nearly  all 
of  them    long   ago,  scratched    his    head   with   the 


112  CUNNING  MURRELL 

feather  end  of  his  pen  and  turned  to  the  drawer 
full  of  papers  that  he  had  lately  shut.  The  note 
he  had  made  from  Golden  Adams's  information  as 
to  Gill  lay  at  the  top,  and  it  was  so  new  in  his 
memory  that  there  was  scarce  need  to  put  it  among 
the  leaves  of  the  book  of  conjuration  and  read  it 
again.  Howbeit  he  did  so,  and  read  the  note  : 
Saml.  Gill  of  Leigh  gone  frovi  SJieppy  now  and  left 
Portsmouth  by  shipp  for  West  Indes. 

"Come,"  Murrell  exclaimed  as  he  rose  to  his 
feet  and  slipped  the  book  back  in  the  drawer; 
"  come,  wipe  eyes,  Dorcas  Brooker,  for  yow  need 
them  clear  to  see  what  I  shall  show  yow." 

He  went  to  the  back  door  and  called  to  Ann 
Pett  for  a  pail  of  water.  For  some  moments  there 
was  the  clank  of  the  pail  and  the  creak  and  thud 
of  a  neighbouring  pump,  and  then  Ann  Pett  came, 
worn  and  dull  as  ever,  and  slow  with  her  burden. 
Murrell  took  it,  and  set  it  down  where  the  sunlight 
fell  on  the  rocking  water  in  dancing  shapes.  Then 
he  took  a  bottle  from  a  shelf,  and  poured  from  it  a 
black  liquid,  which  spread  on  the  surface  as  oil 
would,  showing  a  slight  iridescence. 

"  Stand  you  here,"  Murrell  requested  of  the  girl, 
who  was  watching  him  wistfully  ;  "  stand  you  here 
an'  look  down  into  that." 


AMAZEMENT  AND  A  PAIL  113 

She  bent  her  head,  and  Murrell,  standing  by  her, 
placed  a  hand  on  each  side  of  her  forehead. 

Presently  said  Murrell :  "D'ye  see  anything?" 

"  I  see  the  watter,"  answered  the  girl  inno- 
cently. 

"  Ah — you  see  the  watter,  the  wide  watter,  the 
great,  stormy  ocean.  Look  well  on  it  an'  tell  me 
what  you  see." 

"No  —  yes.  ...  I  think  I  see  a  some- 
thing." 

"You  see  something  on  the  sea,  rockin'  an' 
plungin'  an'  drivin'  before  the  wind.  What 
is  it?" 

"  A  ship  !  Ay,  a  ship  !  "  the  girl  cried,  with 
sudden  excitement.  "  I  see 't !  'Tis  a  ship,  an' 
he  be  in  it,  an'  it  go  drivin',  drivin'  in  the  gale  ! " 
Her  breath  came  short,  and  Murrell  held  her  close 
by  the  forehead,  for  she  seemed  unsteady,  though 
she  clasped  the  baby  firmly  still. 

"  O,  I  see't  drivin'  an'  drivin',"  she  cried,  "an' 
the  waves  curlin'  over  it !  An'  I  see  'tis  arl  dark 
before  it — no,  'tis  a  rock,  a  great  black  rock !  It 
be  on  it !     O  God,  'tis  a  wreck  !     O  ! " 

Murrell  took  his  hands  from  her  head  and  caught 
her  about  the  waist,  letting  her  back  into  a  chair 
and  steadying  the  child  in  her  arms.     This  was  a 
H 


.114  CUNNING  MURRELL 

little  more  than  he  had  intended  ;  the  girl's  brain 
had  galloped  ahead  of  him.  But  perhaps  this  were 
the  most  merciful  end  for  her  pitiful  romance — 
short  and  sharp  though  it  might  be. 

She  did  not  faint,  for  that  was  not  the  habit  of  a 
Leigh  girl.  But  she  lay  back  in  the  chair,  and 
rolled  her  head  in  an  agony  of  tears.  Cunning 
Murrell  feared  that  he  must  do  more  than  earn  his 
sixpence  ere  he  could  be  rid  of  her.  He  put  a 
bottle  of  oil  of  hartshorn  to  her  nose,  and  he  rubbed 
her  forehead.  But  the  fit  of  grief  did  not  last  long. 
She  was  not  of  the  sort  who  could  afford  to  waste 
time  in  useless  "  dolouring."  Presently  she  shifted 
the  baby  to  her  other  arm,  kissed  it,  and  wiped  her 
eyes  with  her  apron.  Then  she  rose  and  said 
simply:  "Thank  'ee  kindly,  Master  Murrell.  'Tis 
a  cruel  hard  blow,  but  I  must  a-bear  it  for  the 
child's  sake,  for  't  hev  no  other  friend,  no  more 
than  I." 

She  took  a  screw  of  paper  from  her  pocket,  and 
unfolding  it,  revealed  a  sixpence  and  some  coppers. 
She  put  the  sixpence  on  the  table  corner,  folded 
the  paper  over  the  halfpence,  and  returned  it  to  her 
pocket.  "  I  take  it  kind  you  chargin'  low  to  poor 
people,"  she  said,  "an'  I  wish  I  could  pay  more. 
I  hope  'tis  enough?" 


AMAZEMENT  AND  A  PAIL  115 

"  O  ay,  'tis  enough,"  Murrell  answered  brusquely, 
picking  up  the  money  ;  "  'tis  accordin'  to  means,  as 
I  tell  'ee."     And  he  opened  the  door. 

The  girl  shifted  the  baby  back  to  her  right  arm 
and  went  out  into  the  lane,  no  more  of  her  grief 
visible  than  was  betrayed  by  a  fitful  tear  or  two, 
overrunning  from  full  eyes  as  she  went. 

Cunning  Murrell  opened  his  hand  and  looked  at 
the  sixpence,  turned  his  eyes  up  toward  the  Dutch 
clock,  and  scratched  his  cheek.  Then  he  looked  at 
the  sixpence  again,  and  then  at  his  hat. 

"Damn  it!"  said  Cunning  Murrell  aloud,  and 
almost  dropped  at  the  word  ;  for  he  was  a  devout 
man,  and  scrupulous  in  his  words,  as  was  becoming 
in  one  with  so  exact  an  acquaintance  with  their 
power  in  spells,  charms,  conjurations,  exorcisms, 
prayers,  and  maledictions.  He  paused  with  the 
shock,  his  gaze  still  fixed  on  the  hat.  Then  he 
reached  and  snatched  it,  and  ran  down  the  lane 
after  the  girl. 

He  caught  her  at  the  stile,  just  beyond  the  cot- 
tages. "  Here  !  "  he  said  abruptly,  thrusting  the  six- 
pence into  her  hand  ;  and  instantly  hurried  back. 

He  flung  his  hat  on  the  table,  kicked  open  the 
back  door,  and  shouted  fiercely  :  "  Ann  Pett !  Be 
yow  goin'  to  leave  this  pail  o'  watter  slummuckin' 


ii6  CUNNING  MURRELL 

about   here   arl    day?     Will  'ee  pitch  it   away,  or 
wait  till  I  come  an'  pitch  it  over  'ee  ?  " 

Ann  Pett  came,  submissive  and  soapy,  and 
carried  the  pail  away.  She  perceived  that  her 
father's  ill  temper  was  increasing,  though  it  was  no 
part  of  her  nature  to  wonder  why. 


CHAPTER    X 

PROFITLESS   DIPLOMACY 

IT  was  Murrell's  habit  to  take  much  of  his  sleep 
at  day,  and  it  was  his  faculty  to  take  it  when 
opportunity  offered.  It  was  now  late  in  the  after- 
noon, and  for  a  little  while  he  debated  within  him- 
self whether  he  should  lie  on  his  bed  above,  or  doze 
merely  where  he  sat.  But  there  was  more  busi- 
ness for  him,  and  he  had  scarce  resolved  on  a 
nap  in  his  chair  when  a  heavy  step  was  stayed 
without,  and  the  door  shook  with  the  thump  of 
a  fist, 

"  Come  in  !  "  cried  Cunning  Murrell.  And  with 
that  the  door  opened,  and  Steve  Lingood  looked  in 
on  the  little  old  man,  curled  in  repose  amid  his 
cobweb  of  dusty  herbs. 

"  Good  day  t'  ye,  Stephen  Lingood,"  said  Mur- 
rell, with  that  dignity  that  characterised  his  deal- 
ings and  conversation  with  the  villagers ;  though 
he  remembered  with  some  misgiving  that  he  had 

117 


ii8  CUNNING  MURRELL 

not  yet  paid  the  smith  for  the  bottle  used  in  the 
relief  of  Em  Banham  from  witchcraft. 

"  Good  day,  Master  Murrell,"  Lingood  answered, 
in  his  deliberate  tones  ;  "  I  come  on  a  small  matter 
o'  business." 

Murrell  was  not  reassured  by  the  expression,  but 
he  motioned  toward  a  chair,  and  Lingood  sat, 
putting  his  fur  cap  on  his  knee. 

"  'Tis  to  consult  about  a  matter  in  your  line,"  he 
said,  "that  I  should  like  done,  an'  will  pay  for,  o' 
course.     Pay  for  high." 

Plainly  Steve  Lingood  felt  some  embarrassment 
in  opening  the  matter,  and  now  he  paused  to  pull 
out  from  his  pocket,  rather  awkwardly,  a  small 
canvas  bag,  which  clinked  as  he  set  it  on  the  table. 
Murrell  watched  him  with  much  satisfaction ;  not 
so  much  because  of  the  money — though,  of  course, 
that  was  something  just  now — as  because  of  inward 
triumph  to  see  the  independent  young  smith,  least 
deferential  among  the  villagers,  coming  at  last  to 
acknowledge  his  powers,  and  to  beg  for  his  aid. 

"  'Tis  as  regards  Mrs. Martin,"  Lingood  began,  and 
Murrell's  eyes  sharpened,  though  he  said  nothing. 

"As  regards  Mrs.  Martin,"  Lingood  repeated, 
unmistakably  ill  at  ease ;  "  she  fare  not  very  well. 
.  .  .  Nor  her  niece.  .  .  ." 


PROFITLESS  DIPLOMACY  119 

Murrell  would  say  nothing  to  help  him  out,  so 
presently  the  smith  went  on.  "  She  fare  bad,  more 
in  mind  than  body,  an'  when  her  son  is  away  at  the 
war  it  come  ill  to  be  held  up  for  a  witch." 

"  It  come  ill,  Stephen  Lingood,  for  any  woman 
to  make  compact  with  the  devil  an'  use  evil  sparrits 
to  bring  grief  on  her  neighbours." 

This  was  not  a  proposition  that  Lingood  was 
prepared  to  dispute  with  an  adept,  and,  rubbing  his 
cap  along  his  thigh  thoughtfully,  he  sought  to  find 
a  way  round  it.  "  Perhaps,"  he  said,  cautiously, 
"  there  might  be  some  mistake." 

"  Mistake  ?  An'  whose  mistake  ?  Hev  you  come 
here,  young  Stephen  Lingood,  to  teach  me  my 
mistakes  in  my  lawful  arts  that  I  was  master  in 
before  your  father  was  born  ?  " 

Lingood  felt  desperately  that  he  was  near  wreck- 
ing the  whole  negotiation.  The  last  thing  he 
desired  was  to  anger  the  cunning  man.  He  has- 
tened to  apologise,  as  well  as  he  was  able.  "  I 
meant  no  offence.  Master  Murr'll,"  he  explained, 
"still  less  to  doubt  your  larnin'.  'Twould  be 
beyond  me  to  teach  anything  out  o'  my  own  trade, 
an'  you  more  than  anybody.  I  did  but  offer  that 
you  might  find  yourself  that  some  mistake — I  den't 
say  mistake  o'  yours — that  some  mistake  might  ha' 


120  CUNNING  MURRELL 

crep'  in  from  wrong  information  or  a  mistellin'  o' 
the  gal's  trouble  or  what  not.  An'  what  I  come  to 
say  is  " — here  his  talk  grew  firmer — "  if  there  hev 
been  any  such  mistake,  you  can  find  that  mistake 
as  nobody  else  could  ;  an'  for  the  findin'  o'  that 
mistake  I  am  willin'  to  pay  high ;  pay  private,  o' 
course,  an'  say  not  a  word  to  nobody." 

"  How  much  ?  "  There  was  no  asperity  in  Mur- 
rell's  voice  now,  nor  in  his  manner,  but  a  quiet 
intentness. 

Lingood  dropped  a  hand  on  the  canvas  bag. 
"Would  five  pound  satisfy  ye?"  he  asked. 

"  Five  pound  for  findin'  some  mistake  in  the 
provin'  o'  Sarah  Martin  to  be  a  witch — an'  givin'  it 
out,  arterwards,  that  she  were  no  witch,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Ay,  just  so,"  responded  the  smith,  beginning  to 
feel  successful.  "  Givin'  it  out,  plain,  of  course, 
among  the  neighbours,  so  as  she  an'  Dorri — her 
niece,  won't  be  put  to  more  pain  an'  shame  such  as 
has  been." 

"Ah!  ...  I  s'pose,  though,"  said  Murrell  blandly, 
"  'twould  be  much  the  same  to  you  an'  Mrs.  Martin 
— ari  her  niece — if  I  give  it  out  plain  among  the 
neighbours  that  she  be  no  witch,  without  troublin' 
to  find  out  any  mistake  first,  eh?" 

"Ay,  that  o'  course,"  Lingood    replied  readily. 


PROFITLESS  DIPLOMACY  121 

glad  to  see  the  cunning  man  rising  so  well.  "  You 
needn't  give  yourself  needless  trouble.  I  'd  ha' 
said  it  before,  onny  I  thote  you  mightn't  like  it  put 
like  that.  So  long  as  you  give  it  out  an'  put  'em 
straight  with  the  village,  that's  enough,  an'  I  '11  pay 
five  pound  willin'." 

"Steve  Lingood,"  said  Cunning  Murrell,  with  an 
odd  grin,  "  I  fear  you  be  a  deep  fellow." 

The  smith  chuckled  quietly  and  rubbed  his  fur 
cap  over  his  knee  again.  "  Ah,"  he  said,  "deep  as 
may  be,  I  shoon't  like  to  make  a  match  with  'ee, 
Master  Murr'll.  But  I  'm  right  glad  we  unnerstand 
one  another,  an'  what  we  say  together" — he  lifted 
the  fur  cap  and  crumpled  it  tight  in  his  hand — "is 
close  an'  private,  you  may  depend." 

"  Of  course,"  Murrell  assented,  still  with  the  odd 
grin  ;  "  close  an'  private,  o'  course.  That  be  a  very 
lib'ral  offer,  Steve  Lingood,  an'  I  doubt  whether 
you  ben't  even  more  lib'ral  than  deep.  I  den't 
guess  you  so  rich  a  man,  neither." 

"  Ha !  well,"  the  smith  laughed,  light  of  heart  at 
his  triumph,  "you  den't  guess  far  wrong,  for  I  'd  be 
put  to  it  to  find  arl  of  another  five  pound  at  this 
minute ! " 

"  That  be  so,  eh  ?  Then  so  much  the  more  lib'ral, 
the  more  amazin'  lib'ral.     Some  persons — thotcful 


122  CUNNING  MURRELL 

persons — might  say  so  much  the  more — the  more 
—eh  ?  " 

Murrell's  face  was  thrust  forward  toward  the 
smith's,  and  the  grin  persisted,  with  cattish  fixed- 
ness, Lingood  felt  a  vague  shock,  a  sudden  rush 
of  blood.  So  that  he  must  needs  gulp  before  he 
said  :  "The  more  what?" 

"The  more — the  more" — Murrell  scratched  his 
chin  with  his  forefinger  as  he  spoke,  but  the  grin 
relaxed  not  a  shade — "  the  more — what  do  the  gals 
an'  boys  call  it? — the  more  in  love  !  " 

Lingood  sat  back  as  though  from  a  blow  in  the 
face,  and  his  brown  cheeks  were  stricken  white. 
He  said  nothing,  but  gulped  again,  and  Murrell 
clapped  hands  to  knees  and  laughed  indeed,  this 
time  with  enjoyment.  "  Come,"  he  said,  "  I  doubt 
summat  o'  your  deepness  after  arl,  though  nothen 
o'  your  lib'ral'ty ;  givin'  five  pound  for  love  of 
another  man's  promised  wife  !  " 

Lingood's  face  regained  something  of  its  normal 
hue,  and  then  grew  dark  and  flushed  ;  he  spoke 
with  a  dryness  of  the  throat,  and  a  twitch  of  the 
mouth.  "  I  den't  think  to  let  that  be  known, 
Master  Murr'll,"  he  said,  "  though  'twould  be  a  lie 
if  I  denied  it.  'Tis  pain  enough,  an'  not  what  a 
man's  proud  of;  an' but  for  you  I'd  ha' lived  an' 


PROFITLESS  DIPLOMACY  123 

died  an'  nobody  'd  guessed  of  it.  That  bein'  so  I 
make  count  with  you,  as  an  honest  man,  to  keep 
my  secret,  even  as  I  do  keep  yours.  An'  to  make 
tight  the  bargain  we  made" — his  hand  trembled 
now  as  he  took  up  the  canvas  bag  and  groped  in  it 
with  his  fingers — "  the  five  pound  be  here,  an' " 

"The  bargain  we  made!"  Cunning  Murrell 
sprang  to  his  feet,  hands  clenched,  and  eyes  aflame. 
"  Boast  of  no  bargain  made  with  me,  Stephen  Lin- 
good  !  I  make  no  bargains  with  the  devil,  nor 
with  his  messengers  !  Yow  come  here  with  money 
in  your  hand  to  buy  my  undyin'  soul !  To  bribe 
me  to  lie  an'  blaspheme,  that  a  wicked  witch  may 
work  her  devilish  arts  among  good  Christian  people 
with  no  hindrance  !  Take  up  your  money,  Stephen 
Lingood,  that  the  devil  hev  given  you  to  tempt  me 
with,  an'  much  good  may  it  do  ye !  For  I  be  the 
devil's  master,  and  no  money  shall  make  me  his 
sarvant !" 

Lingood  was  giddy  with  amaze.  What  was 
this?  By  all  his  simple  lights  the  negotiations  had 
gone  on  admirably,  with  the  most  neighbourly 
agreement  and  success,  except  for  Murrell's  divina- 
tion, by  inexplicable  means,  of  its  inmost  occasion. 
And  now,  with  all  settled  and  done,  and  the  agreed 
payment  in  act  of  passing  .  .  . ! 


124  CUNNING  MURRELL 

"Take  your  money,  Stephen  Lingood,  and  do 
you  beware  yourself  an'  guard  your  own  soul 
'gainst  the  witch  the  devil  hev  sent  to  entice  you ! 
He  do  chose  his  time  well — sendin'  you  with  your 
money  on  a  day  when  I  feel  need  of  it  to  pay  what 
I  owe  you  !  " 

Lingood  gasped,  and  somehow  got  on  his  feet. 
"'Tis — 'tis  beyond  me,"  he  said,  with  slow  wonder, 
"  to  see  you  turn  that  way,  Master  Murr'll ! " 

"  Ay,  much  be  beyond  yow,  I  make  no  doubt, 
deep  fellow  as  you  be."  The  cunning  man's 
excitement  vanished  as  suddenly  as  it  had  appeared, 
and  now  he  turned  about  as  though  to  busy  himself 
among  bottles  and  jars  on  the  shelf  beyond  the 
fireplace.  "  You  hev  your  answer,  Stephen  Lin- 
good, and  as  for  what  I  owe  you,  this  day  I 
cannot  pay ;  though  if  you  will  you  may  take 
summat  for  it,  or  for  pledge.  Yow  can  take  the 
clock." 

"  I  den't  come  to  ask  for  money,"  Lingood 
answered  heavily.  "  You  can  pay  when  you  please, 
an'  I  want  no  pledge.  I  came  to  beg  a  little 
mercy  for  two  lone  women,  an'  it  seems  you  take  it 
ill.  .  .  .  Well,  I  'm  sorry,  an'  I  '11  go,  an'  leave  my 
secret  with  ye." 

Murrell  made  no  answer,  but  gave  his  attention 


i 


PROFITLESS  DIPLOMACY  125 

to  the  bottles  and  jars ;  and  the  smith  went  his 
way  moodily  into  the  lane. 

When  he  was  gone,  Murrell  called  from  the  back 
door  to  his  daughter:  "There  be  more  o'  that  bacon 
left,  Ann,  ben't  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,  near  hafe  the  hock." 

"  Well,  get  yow  a  good  double  plateful  ready, 
with  taters  an'  bread,  as  soon  as 't  be  dark." 

"  To  take  out  with  'ee  like  las'  night  ?  " 

"  What  for  doan't  you  mind,  Ann  Pett,  an'  keep 
your  noisy  mouth  shut  about  my  consarns ! " 
Murrell's  temper  was  fated  not  to  be  allowed  to 
soften  this  day.  "  Do  yow  get  what  I  want,  an' 
hoad  your  tongue."     And  he  shut  the  door. 

The  sky  was  flushing  with  the  sunset,  and  a  shed 
shut  the  light  from  the  little  back  window,  so  that 
in  the  room  it  already  grew  dusk  ;  but  there  was 
light  enough  for  Murrell  to  add  two  more  to  his 
heap  of  notes  :  Dor.  Brooker  left  in  troubel  with 
babby  by  Saml.  Gill;  and  :  Stephn.  Lingood  do  long 
secret  for  Dy.  Thorn. 


CHAPTER    XI 

SOUNDS  IN  THE  WIND 

HER  aunt's  sleeplessness  added  to  the  con- 
cern Dorrily  felt  for  her  at  this  time. 
More  than  once,  waking  in  the  night,  she  had 
found  the  place  vacant  beside  her,  and  once  her 
search  had  only  ended  in  the  garden,  where  she 
found  Jack's  mother  walking  ;  so  that  she  quickly 
grew  into  a  habit  of  light  sleep,  and  was  alert 
to  feel  Mrs.  Martin's  absence  at  any  hour  of  the 
night. 

All  unwitting  of  Lingood's  attempt  to  corrupt 
Cunning  Murrell's  integrity  on  their  behalf,  they 
went  to  bed  early  as  usual  that  evening.  Dorrily 
may  have  slept  an  hour,  or  perhaps  less,  when 
she  awoke  with  a  start  at  a  sharp  report.  She 
sat  up,  and  saw  that  her  aunt  was  already  awake 
and  half  dressed,  and  was  crouching  at  the 
little  window  that  looked  across  the  lane  to  Castle 
Hill.      Ere  she  could  reach  her   side  there  came 

126 


SOUNDS  IN  THE  WIND  127 

another  loud  crack,  as  of  a  gun,  and  Mrs.  Martin 
said,  "  'Tis  shots.  Maybe  the  coastguard."  And 
taking  up  a  shawl  she  left  the  room. 

Dorrily  had  learned  not  to  attempt  to  hinder 
or  dissuade  at  these  times,  so  she  hastened  to 
provide  herself  with  some  necessary  clothing,  and 
followed.  Mrs.  Martin  went  out  of  the  cottage, 
down  into  the  lane,  and  straight  across  to  Castle 
Hill  ;  and  when  Dorrily  emerged  she  saw  her 
already  on  the  near  slope. 

There  was  a  south-east  wind,  a  little  high  for  the 
time  of  year,  and  broken  cloud,  of  every  degree 
of  thickness  and  thinness,  came  steadily  across 
the  sky  under  the  three-quarter  moon,  throwing 
across  marsh  and  hill  sometimes  black  shadow 
and  sometimes  clear  white  light,  with  dusky 
obscurity  between.  Dorrily  overtook  her  aunt  at 
the  shoulder  of  the  mound,  where  a  heap  of  grey 
old  wall  stood,  and  took  her  arm.  "  Aunt  Sarah," 
she  said,  "  I  am  here.  Come  with  me."  And,  as 
the  woman  turned  to  look  at  her,  "  'Tis  I,  Dorry," 
she  added.     "  Let  us  go  back." 

'"Tis  no  night  for  a  run,  this,"  Sarah  Martin 
said,  looking  across  the  wide  dark  water  and  up  at 
where  the  moon  shone  mistily  through  white  cloud. 
"  I  wonder  what  guard  John  an'  Reuben  be  on  ?  " 


128  CUNNING  MURRELL 

Her  mind  was  on  the  two  men  dead  twelve 
years  since,  and  Dorrily  was  wise  enough  to  dis- 
turb the  poor  head  as  Httle  as  possible.  "  No,"  she 
said,  "  'tis  no  night  for  a  run  with  a  moon  like  that, 
an'  if  there  be  no  run  all  guards  are  alike  ;  they  '11 
take  no  harm." 

"  But  I  heard  shots,  I  tell  'ee.  Dorry,  I  hope 
they  ben't  on  the  watter  !  " 

"  'Tis  the  same  to  them,  watter  or  land,"  the  girl 
answered,  with  an  odd  after-thought  of  the  truth 
in  the  words.  "  'Tis  a  still  night  on  watter,  as  you 
may  see." 

"  But  I  heard  shots.     Hark  !  " 

Both  listened.  The  wind  was  steady  from  over 
water  and  marsh,  and  carried  sound  far,  even  while 
it  confused  it.  From  Sea  Reach  there  came  no 
noise  but  the  hum  of  the  wind  itself;  but  lower 
on  the  hill  or  by  the  marsh  edge  there  was  the 
faintest  regular  sound,  sometimes  almost  inaudible, 
but  regular  still.  The  two  women  turned  ear  to 
the  wind  and  Dorrily  watched  her  aunt's  eyes 
anxiously. 

"  Hear ! "  Mrs.  Martin  said,  pointing  down  hill. 
"  'Tis  horses — bein'  led  !  " 

"Strayed  on  the  marsh,  Aunt  Sarah,  an'  some 
one  bringing  them  in,  that 's  all." 


SOUNDS  IN  THE  WIND  129 

For  a  moment  they  listened,  and  it  seemed  that 
the  sound  receded.  Then  a  sudden  noise  from 
below  the  mound  made  them  turn. 

A  man  went  running  pell  mell  up  the  lane,  a 
stable  lantern  tumbling  and  swinging  from  one 
hand.  He  looked  neither  to  right  nor  to  left,  but 
scampered  madly,  the  lantern  banging  and  clank- 
ing from  thigh  to  forearm.  It  would  seem  to  be  a 
bolt  of  sheer  terror,  though  at  what  it  were  hard  to 
say,  save  for  the  ghostly  reputation  of  the  spot ; 
for  nobody  pursued  him.  And  there  was  barely 
time  to  see  that  he  wore  a  smock  frock,  and  had 
the  appearance  of  a  farm  hand,  ere  he  vanished 
at  the  bend. 

Again  Dorrily  urged  return,  this  time  with  more 
persuasion.  "  'Tis  no  run,"  she  argued,  "  else  the 
guard  would  burn  lights,  an'  we  should  see  an'  hear 
all  from  here.  You're  losin'  your  rest  an'  'haps 
takin'  a  chill  for  nothen.  That's  nothen  but  a 
great  lout  runnin'  from  his  shadow,  an'  'tis  all  quiet 
now.     Come  back,  do  'ee." 

Her  aunt  sighed,  and  turned  with  her  down  the 
path.  "  Ah,"  she  said,  "  'tis  anxious  waitin'  for 
them  a-nights." 

They  were  well  over  the  crest  when  a  dark  figure 
rose  out  of  a  clump  of  bush  and  broken  masonry 
I 


130  CUNNING  MURRELL 

twenty  yards  from  where  they  had  stood.  It  was 
a  man,  a  tall  man,  whose  back  was  so  toward  what 
light  there  was  that  no  witness  could  have  sworn 
to  him  as  Golden  Adams.  He  peered  over  the 
shoulder  of  the  mound  after  the  women,  and 
satisfied  that  they  were  gone,  crept  along  the 
almost  obliterated  line  of  the  curtain  wall  toward 
the  south  tower. 

The  cottage  door  was  closed  again,  quiet  and 
dark.  The  shattered  towers  beyond  the  mound 
frowned  and  paled  by  turns,  as  the  clouds  governed 
the  moonlight,  and  Cunning  Murrell,  nearing  the 
castle  stealthily  by  the  meadows  above  the  lane, 
heard  no  more  than  the  rustling  of  the  leaves, 
nor  added  to  it  the  least  sound  himself 


CHAPTER    XII 

SHADOWS  ON  THE  HILL 

AS  Lingood  passed  the  Castle  Inn,  on  his  way 
from  Murrell's,  he  could  hear  laughter  and 
talk  in  the  parlour,  where  candles  were  being 
lighted.  But  he  was  in  no  mood  to  join  the  com- 
pany, and  so  he  kept  his  way  to  the  smithy. 

Prentice  was  in  the  parlour,  however,  and 
Banham  and  Dan  Fisk.  Also  Abel  Pennyfather, 
a  small  farmer,  though  a  large  and  wide  person  ; 
and  two  or  three  more,  including  the  colourless 
man,  burdened  with  the  never-completed  story  of 
the  balloon  that  fell  in  Barling  in  eighteen  hundred 
and  twenty-eight. 

"Tarkin'  o'  Barl'n',"  said  Abel  Pennyfather, 
cutting  short  the  balloon  man  just  before  he  got 
to  the  date,  "just  look  'ee  here  at  this  stick. 
See  't  ?  Now  I  lay  a  penny  yow  don't  know,  none 
on  ye,  what  that  stick  is,  nor  where  it  kim  from  ?  " 

Most  of  them  did,  having  heard  the  story  before, 

131 


132  CUNNING  MURRELL 

but  nobody  ventured  to  say  so  except  the  injured 
balloon  man,  who,  stung  to  rebellion  against 
Pennyfather's  big  voice  and  loud  manner,  began  : 

"  Why,  ees,  sarten  to  say,  that  onny  be " 

"That  stick,"  roared  Pennyfather,  banging  it 
on  the  flat  of  the  table — "that  stick  be  a  thistle. 
Nothen  but  a  common  rank  oad  thistle.  An'  I 
ha'  had  that  stick  twelve  year.  An'  I  lay  a  penny 
you  dunno  where  it  kim  from.  Well,  when  oad 
Wilker  had  Burton's  farm,  yow  never  see  sich  a 
farm  in  arl  your  born  days  ;  never.  Darty  fiel's  ! 
La !  I  'd  think  so.  Nobody  never  knowed  what 
a  darty  fiel'  was  that  hent  seen  oad  Bob  Wilker's. 
Yow  coon't  tell  whether  'twere  beans  or  carlock 
he  were  growin' — 'cept  'twere  nigh  arl  carlock. 
Carlock  an'  dog  grass  an'  thistles  !  Lud !  Why 
folk  kim  miles  to  see  't,  'twere  such  a  sight.  Well, 
I  looks  over  into  a  wheat  fiel'  one  day,  an'  there 
'tarl  were  ;  such  a  foison  o'  thistles  an'  carlock  an' 
muck  as  yow  never  see — thistles  high  as  a  man, 
very  nigh.  So,  sez  I,  I  'U  just  take  a  look  over 
that  fiel',  I  sez,  and  find  the  true  champion  among 
they  thistles.  So  I  looks  an'  I  looks,  but  dang 
'tarl  they  be  arl  so  woundly  big  I  coon't  make 
ch'ice.  But,  sez  I,  I  '11  take  away  one  with  me  for 
cur'os'ty.       So  I  cuts  it  close  down,  an'  a  deadly 


SHADOWS  ON  THE  HILL  133 

fine  bit  o'  timber  'twere.  Why,  sez  I,  that  'ud 
make  a  good  warlkin'  stick  !  An'  a  warlkin'  stick 
I  made  it !     Ha  !  ha  !  " 

'"Tis  a  wonnerful  stick,"  remarked  the  docile 
Banham,  examining  it  as  though  it  were  not  as 
familiar  in  his  eyes  as  Abel  Pennyfather  himself. 
"  A  wonnerful  stick,  sarten  to  say.  An'  nothen 
but  a  rank  oad  thistle,  sez  you  !     Well,  well." 

"  The  games  I  had  with  that  stick  ! "  Abel 
pursued,  with  a  chuckle.  "Drove  poor  oad  Bob 
Wilker  hafe  shanny.  'Good  mornin',  Master 
Wilker,'  sez  L  *  How  d'  ye  like  my  warlkin'  stick? 
Fine  bit  o'  timber,  ben't  it?  Much  obliged  t' ye 
for  it.  Master  Wilker.  Got  it  out  o'  a  wheat  fiel'  o' 
yourn,  an'  left  plenty  more  behine.  Why  doan't 
you  grow  warlkin'  sticks  for  rcg'lar  crop  ? '  Lord  ! 
that  mad  he  were  !  " 

"  He  were  a  rum  'un,  oad  Wilker,"  Prentice  said 
soberly,  refilling  his  pipe.  "Farmed  slovenly 
an'  farmed  mean,  an'  thote  to  make  it  pay  by 
bein'  meaner.  Remember  the  fanteeg  with  the 
gleaners  ?  " 

"  Woon't  hev  'em,  would  he  ?  " 

"  Got  a-hossback,  with  a  rope  to  the  saddle,  him 
an'  his  hossman,  both  a-hossback,  one  each  end  o' 
the  rope.    Gallopped  over  a  fiel',  so's  to  loop  up  arl 


134  CUNNING  MURRELL 

the  gleaners  an'  sweep  'em  away.  Gleaners  got  on 
a  bank  an'  broke  his  ja'  with  a  brickbat.  Rope 
caught  a  woman,  hulled  her  over  an'  putt  out  her 
shoulder,  and  she  summonsed  him  an'  made  him 
pay.  He  went  in  to  tie  up  his  ja',  an'  the  gleaners 
they  went  off  with  fower  traves  o'  wheat.  Cost 
him  three  years'  gleanin's,  that  did.' 

"  Well,"  Pennyfather  proclaimed,  "  he  den't 
know  how  to  farm,  he  den't.  Farmin'  mean 
doan't  do — not  in  Essex.  Now  look  at  iiic.  I  '11 
just  tell  'ee.     When  a  man  comes " 

There  was  a  wrenching,  first  one  way  and  then 
the  other,  at  the  door  handle,  ere  the  door  opened, 
and  a  red,  vacant  face  appeared  above  a  dirty 
smock  frock  and  below  a  very  bad  hat.  "  Master 
Pennyfaa'  ? "  said  the  face  interrogatively :  for 
Abel  was  behind  the  door. 

"  Ees?"  Pennyfather  turned  about  in  his  chair  and 
faced  the  new-comer.  "What  is 't  now,  Jarge  Crick?" 

"  They  cows  be  driv'  in  by  the  new  boy,  and 
Missis  she  says  there  be  but  fowerteen  in  cow'us." 

"  Fowerteen  ?     Where  be  t'  other  then  ?  " 

"  Missus  say  it  be  oad  Molly." 

"  Where  be  't,  joulterhead  ?  " 

"  She  maake  count  it  strayed  down  on  to  marshes. 
Boy  went  and  found  gate  oppen." 


SHADOWS  ON  THE  HILL  135 

"  An'  why  den't  he  go  an'  find  her  ?  "  Abel  de- 
manded with  rising  wrath. 

"  'Tis  dark,  an'  he  be  feared." 

"  Feared  !  Feared  o'  what  ?  Why  den't  ye  go 
yerself,  'stead  o'  comin'  jahin'  here?  Yow  ben't 
feared,  too,  be  yow  ?  " 

"  Yow  be  mindful  of  the  White  Lady  down  by 
the  castle,  Jarge,"  put  in  Dan  Fisk,  with  a  malicious 
squint.  "Ay,  and  the  Black  Man,  too,  and  the 
witches  that  do  live  thereby." 

"'Haps  oad  Molly  won't  take  no  ill  a  warm 
night,  master,"  Jarge  hinted  uneasily,  fidgeting 
with  the  door-knob,  "  an'  'tis  hard  to  find  a  beast 
in  the  dark." 

"Take  no  ill!  Why  she'll  go  a-eatin'  that 
oad  cowbane  arl  night  an'  pizen  herself!  They 
squelchy  places  be  full  of  it.  Doan't  'ee  be  a  fool, 
Jarge  Crick.  Take  yow  a  lantern,  an'  go  arter  her, 
quick  an'  sharp.     Go  on  !  " 

Jarge  Crick,  with  no  extravagant  signs  of  en- 
thusiasm, slowly  withdrew,  and  pulled  the  door 
behind  him. 

"  It  do  beat  me,"  commented  Abel  Pennyfather, 
when  he  was  gone,  "  to  see  the  timmersome  fancies 
o'  folk  hereabout.  Ghosts,  an'  witches,  an'  White 
Ladies,  an'  Black  Men,  an'  what  not,  an'  everybody 


136  CUNNING  MURRELL 

feared  to  go  nigh  the  castle  arter  dark,  an'  Cunnin' 
Murr'll  there  makin'  his  livin'  of  it." 

Banham  shuffled  uneasily,  and  Prentice  said, 
"  Cunnin'  Murr'll 's  a  knowledgable  man,  how- 
somedever." 

"An'  I  do  seem  to  remember,"  remarked  Dan 
Fisk  abstractedly,  "  I  do  seem  to  remember  some- 
body carlin'  in  Cunnin'  Murr'll  to  a  sick  cow — 
though  whether  'twere  oad  Molly  or  one  o'  the 
Gathers  I  dunno." 

"  Cow  doctorin's  one  thing,"  retorted  Abel, 
reddening  and  puffing  his  cheeks,  "  an'  ghosts  an' 
goblins  is  anoather.  I  doan't  deny  as  Murr'll  be 
a  scholard,  an'  I  've  had  him  to  cure  cows  an' 
pigs,  an'  I  'd  hev  him  agin  ;  an'  I  'd  hev  him  for  a 
human  ague  or  what  not.  But  ghosts  an'  witches 
— bah  !  I  doan't  give  that  for  arl  of  'em  !  "  And 
he  snapped  his  fingers. 

"  Murr'll  be  a  wonnerful  man  with  warts,"  said 
Prentice.  "  Looks  at  'em  an'  they  be  gone  in  the 
mornin'.     Sometimes  doan't  even  look  at  'em." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  another,  "  an'  things  stole  !  'Tis 
known  how  gifted  he  be  with  they.  Remember 
Dicky  Wicks,  as  went  to  sleep  in  the  tap-room  at 
the  Crown  an'  got  his  puss  stole  ?  Well  there 
were  twelve  shillin'  in  the  puss,  an'   he  went  to 


SHADOWS  ON  THE  HILL  137 

Murr'll,  an'  Murr'll  he  took  it  down  'zact,  when  he 
went  in  an'  when  he  woke  up,  an'  who  were  there, 
and  what  the  puss  were  like,  an'  what  not.  So, 
sez  Murr'll,  '  If  I  get  it  back  for  yow  'col  yow 
promise  not  to  persecute '  " 

"  Prosecute,"  Prentice  hinted. 

"So  I  said — persecute.  'If  I  get  it  back  for 
yow,'  sez  Murr'll,  '  'ool  yow  promise  not  to  perse- 
cute, supposin'  yow  larn  who  be  the  thief?'  So 
Dicky  Wicks  promised,  an'  sez  Murr'll,  '  Putt  a  pot 
or  a  mug  on  your  doorstep  overnight,  an'  look  in 
it  in  the  mornin'.'  So  Dicky  Wicks  putts  out  the 
mug,  an'  in  the  mornin'  he  comes  an'  looks  at  it, 
an'  there  be  nothen  there " 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  "  roared  Abel  Pennyfather.  "  Might 
ha'  'spected  as  much.     Nothen  there  !  " 

"  Nothen  there  the  fi^st  mornin',  as  I  said.  But 
sez  Murr'll,  'Putt  it  out  agin,'  an'  he  did;  an' 
nex'  mornin'  there  be  the  puss  in  the  mug  com- 
plete, just  as  'twere  lost,  with  the  twelve  shillin' 
in  it,  the  very  same  coins  as  were  there  when  he 
lost  it — leas'ways  he  coon't  swear  to  'em,  but  he 
thote  most  on  'em  were." 

"Ay,  'tis  wonderful  doin's,  sarten  to  say," 
Banham  said  musingly,  with  a  slow  shake  of  the 
head.     "  An'  him  with  such  a  mort  o'  trades,  too. 


138  CUNNING  MURRELL 

Readin'  arl  sort  o'  things — the  stars,  an'  Greek, 
an'  moles  an'  what  not,  an'  herbs  and  cures,  an' 
surveyin'." 

"Ah,  an'  wonnerful  visions  o'  prophecy  in  a 
pail,  they  do  say.  Why,  that  Mrs.  Mead  as  is 
now,  when  her  fust  husban'  went  away  an'  weren't 
heard  of  ever  agin,  she  den't  know  whether  she 
might  marry  agin  lawful  or  not,  till  she  went  to 
Cunnin'  Murr'll  an'  looked  in  the  pail  o'  watter  an' 
there  see  a  funeral  a-goin'  into  a  chu'chyard. 
Den't  know  what  to  do,  not  till  then,  she  den't." 

"  'Tis  no  denyin'  he  be  a  man  o'  great  powers," 
said  Prentice,  with  judicial  calm. 

"An'  how  he  go  about  at  night!  He've  been 
seen  at  sputs  miles  apart  at  the  same  time,  often. 
He  go  out  most  o'  dark  nights,  when  oather  folk 
be  timmersome,  an'  he  go  anywhere — white  ladies 
or  sparrits  give  Jdm  no  fear." 

Abel  Pennyfather  snorted.  "  Give  him  no  fear  !  " 
he  repeated  scornfully.  "  An'  who  do  fear  'em,  eh  ? 
Who  do  fear  'em  ?  " 

"Some  do,  sarten  to  say,"  Banham  replied 
mildly.  "'Tis  not  given  to  arl  folk  to  meet  such 
with  galliant  defiance  like  yourn,  Master  Penny- 
father." 

"  Pooh,  pooh  !  "  said  Abel  Pennyfather. 


SHADOWS  ON  THE  HILL  139 

There  was  a  gallop  and  a  bounce  outside,  and 
something  struck  the  door  with  a  clatter.  Once 
more  it  opened,  and  Jarge  Crick,  his  face  red  no 
longer,  but  dirty  white,  like  putty,  stood  and 
gasped  for  breath,  an  extinguished  horn  lantern 
hanging  from  one  finger  and  smelling  horribly. 

"Why,  Jarge!"  cried  Dan  Fisk.  "Been  a-ghost 
seein'  ?     What  ha'  yow  done  with  oad  Molly  ?  " 

"  Marshes — castle — ghostes — I  see  'em — witches 
— arl  on  'em — G'Lor !  "  Jarge  Crick  laid  hold  of  a 
chair-back  and  panted  afresh,  his  eyes  rolling  wildly. 

"  What  ha'  ye  seen,  ye  great  fool  ?  "  Pennyfather 
demanded  angrily.  "  Get  your  breath  an'  tell 
plain.     Sit  down,  then.     Where 's  the  cow  ?  " 

Jarge  Crick  fell  into  the  chair  he  had  been  lean- 
ing on,  staring  and  panting  still,  for  he  had  run 
half  a  mile  up  hill  at  his  hardest. 

"Where's  the  cow?"  asked  Abel  Pennyfather 
again,  with  increasing  wrath. 

Jarge  shook  his  head,  and  glanced  nervously 
over  his  shoulder.  "  Han't — sin  her,"  he  said, 
"Arl  marshes  —  an'  Castle  Hill  —  devil-rid  an' 
harnted  ! " 

"  Harnted  be  gormed  !     What 's  gastered  ye  ? " 

"  I  see  the  Black  Man,  an'  witches,  an'  ghostes, 
an'  bosses  like  the  Book  o'  Revelations ! " 


HO  CUNNING  MURRELL 

Banham,  whose  eyes  and  mouth  had  remained 
steadily  open  since  Jarge  came  in,  here  murmured  : 
"Yow  doan't  say 't !  Ghostes  an'  hosses  like 
Revelations ! " 

"When  I'd  a-got  down  jist  over  the  marsh," 
Jarge  Crick  went  on,  growing  less  breathless  and 
more  coherent,  "  I  went  by  the  cliff-side  a-sayin' 
over  prayers  to  meself,  as  is  fit  for  times  o'  great 
per'l,  an'  I  see  frightful  shadders  movin'  on  Castle 
Hill." 

"'Tis  cloudy  an'  moonlight  by  turns,"  said 
Pennyfather  testily,  "  'an  shadders  be  nat'ral." 

"  An'  the  nearer  I  kim  the  more  I  beared  sighs 
an'  moans  an'  dolourin'  noises  'pon  the  hillside." 

'"Tis  a  steady  wind  from  the  sea,  an'  yow  hear 
it  in  the  trees  an'  copses." 

"  But  I  hearted  up  strong,  for  I  see  a  beast  on 
the  hill  as  the  moon  kim  out,  an'  even  a  cow  be 
comp'ny  to  a  man  in  sich  deadly  places  ;  an'  I  went 
forrard  in  prayer  an'  tremblin'.  But  the  moon  went  in 
agin,  an'  no  beast  could  I  see,  though  I  were  a-nigh 
where  it  ote  to  be.  An'  then  there  kim  a  mortal 
loud  bang,  an'  I  drops  down  to  hidin'  in  a  bush." 

Abel  Pennyfather  offered  no  explanation  of  the 
bang,  and  the  rest  only  gaped  and  listened. 

"Scace  was  one  bang  but  there   kim  anoather, 


SHADOWS  ON  THE  HILL  141 

an'  I  dussen't  look  up.  But  when  no  oather  bang 
den't  come  I  hearted  an'  peeped,  an'  cuther  !  There 
goed  a  ghostly  pale  hoss,  an'  there  goed  a  black 
hoss  an'  more  down  the  hill,  arl  shadder  an'  sparrit 
an'  breathin'  fire  and  brimstone,  an'  black  shadders 
o'  creeping  ghostes  at  their  halters.  I  coon't  stand 
nor  run — not  nohow.  An'  I  looked  up  the  hill, 
an'  there  I  see  the  Black  Man,  true  as  print.  A 
gashly  great  black  tarl  man,  with  eyes  o'  flamin' 
fire,  stannin'  by  the  tower,  an'  gazin'  terr'ble  down 
on  the  shadders  an'  sparrits,  till  I  a'mos'  swounded. 
An'  when  I  looked  agin  he  were  gone — gone  like 
smoke.  I  crarled  round  behin'  the  bushes  till  I 
kim  near  by  the  lane  end,  an'  then  there  were  v'ices 
— v'ices  with  words  I  coon't  unnerstand,  nor  no 
Christen  man  either,  up  on  the  hill.  So  I  looks 
agen  an'  'twere  two  women  right  atop — stretching 
out  their  hands  over  the  gashly  place  an'  sayin' 
their  words  ;  an'  I  '11  swear  it  solemn,  'pon  Bible 
oath,  for  once  I  see  'em  clear,  'twere  Mrs.  Mart'n, 
the  witch,  an'  the  gal  her  niece ! " 

Wide  eyes  and  wide  mouths  moved  not,  but  from 
the  latter  there  was  an  escape  of  breath  like  wind 
from  a  noisy  bellows,  and  Banham  gurgled  hoarsely  : 
"  Witches'  meet'n',  sarten  !  " 

"An'  with  that  I  gets  my  senses  back,  an'  being 


142  CUNNING  MURRELL 

at  the  lane  end  I  'oon't  look  no  moer,  but  let  go  arl 
an'  runned." 

"  Pity  yow  don't  get  your  senses  back  'fore  yow 
started  out,"  sneered  Abel  Pennyfather.  "  Yow  go 
out  arter  my  cow,  an'  yow  come  back  with  a  silly 
mawther's  yarn  like  that,  an'  leave  the  cow  to  pizen 
herself  an'  get  lost !  Go  yow  back,  Jarge  Crick,  an' 
find  my  cow.     Go  on  !  " 

"  Go  back ! "  ejaculated  Jarge,  his  returning 
colour  checking  at  the  thought.     "  Not  me !  " 

"  I  tell  yow  to  'bey  my  orders ! "  pursued  his 
master,  with  an  angry  thump  on  the  table.  "Go 
an'  bring  in  that  cow,  an'  let 's  hear  no  more  o'  yar 
gammick,  else  find  anoather  place  !  " 

Jarge  rose  to  his  feet,  but  shook  his  head  steadily. 
"  Not  me,  master,"  he  said.  "  I  've  sin  it  an'  yow 
han't.  I  'd  sooner  a-lose  me  place  fowerty  times. 
Yow  go  an'  fetch  her  yourself,  Master  Pennyfaa',  if 
yow  ben't  afeared.  I  am."  And  Jarge  Crick, 
sidling  and  shaking  his  head,  carried  his  tale  and 
his  lantern  out  into  the  tap-room. 

For  a  few  minutes  there  was  silence,  save  for 
certain  grunts  and  snorts  of  disgust  from  Abel 
Pennyfather,  and  then  Dan  Fisk  said,  with  his  odd 
squint :  "  Hedn'  yow  better  see  about  oad  Molly 
'fore  she  gets  strayed  too  fur  ?  " 


SHADOWS  ON  THE  HILL  143 

"  Dang  the  cow,  no.     She  woan't  take  no  harm." 
"  But  there  be  a  mort  o'  cowbane  in  the  squelchy 
places,  Master  Pennyfather." 

"Cowbane  be  danged.  If  she'll  take  it  I  count 
she  's  took  it  by  this  time,  an'  anyhow  yow  can't 
see  a  cow  on  a  marsh  on  a  night  like  this,  an' — but 
there — none  of  ye  be  drinkin' !  Doan't  sit  with 
empty  pots,  neighbours  !     What  '11  ye  arl  take  ? " 


CHAPTER    XIII 


A   TALE   OF   TUBS 


WHEN  Mr.  Cloyse's  stolid  face  told  a  tale  of 
alarm  to  the  scarce  more  wooden  door  that 
shut  out  Cunning  Murrell,  there  was  good  reason. 
For  in  truth  he  realised  that  this  inconvenient 
meddler  had  surprised  an  important  business  secret. 
Suddenly  confronted  with  the  fact  at  the  interview, 
he  had  no  choice  but  to  defend  himself,  for  the 
time  at  least,  by  the  mask  of  total  ignorance,  in- 
difference, and  denial  that  so  well  became  him. 
But  useful  as  this  defence  was,  and  effectual  as  it  had 
proved  in  staving  off  Murrell's  interference  for  the 
moment,  it  had  its  faults.  For  one,  he  could  make 
no  fishing  inquiries  without  marring  its  effect.  So 
that  Murrell  had  gone  off  without  betraying  in  any 
way  the  extent  of  his  real  knowledge  save  in  one 
particular,  and  that  misleading.  For  Cloyse  judged 
from  the  answer  to  the  one  question  he  ventured, 
that  his  "partner"  must  be  gone  back  to  Sheppy, 


A  TALE  OF  TUBS  145 

as    he    had    already    supposed ;    and    this    was    a 
mistake. 

Now  the  facts  stood  thus.     Mr.  Simon  Cloyse, 
ever  alert  to  add  another  hundred  pounds,  or  even 
a  hundred  pence,  to  the  hoard  of  his  lifetime  of 
astute  and  various  traffic,  had  seen  the  opportunity 
for  such  a  stroke  of  business  as  had  suggested  itself 
to  Prentice,  and  had  seen  it  long  before  the  notion 
had  occurred  to   that  easy-going  oldster  himself; 
and   when,  after  the  adventure  of  the  blue  light 
on  Southchurch  cliffs,  Dove  and  Prentice  had  ex- 
changed winks  and  hints  as  to  his  finger  being  in 
the  affair,  they  made  the  shrewdest  guess  of  their 
lives.     Albeit   they   kept   their   surmise   to   them- 
selves, and  not  a  soul  in  Leigh  suspected,  for  the 
very  natural  reason  that  comparison  of  notes  had 
made  it  certain   that  not  a   man  along  the  coast, 
from  Bemfleet  to  Shoebury,  had  been  "out"  that 
night ;  and  goods  could  not  be  run  without  a  crew. 
But  as  a  matter  of  fact  Sim  Cloyse  had  taken  the 
added  precaution  to  employ  a  Kentish  crew  ;   or, 
rather,  Golden  Adams  had  employed  the  Kentish 
crew   on    Cloyse's   stipulation.      There  was  every 
advantage  in  the  arrangement ;  for  Golden  Adams 
was  an  old  hand,  and  though  he  was  now  living  in 
Sheppy,  the  Essex  coast  was  familiar  to  him  foot 
K 


146  CUNNING  MURRELL 

by  foot.  And  both  he  and  his  crew  coming  from 
Kent  there  would  be  no  suspicious  fore-moves  on 
the  Essex  side  to  set  the  coastguard  alert,  nor  any 
after-gossip  in  the  neighbourhood  to  betray  the 
operation. 

Golden  Adams  was  not  only  the  most  likely  man 
for  the  job,  but  there  was  a  certain  matter  of  ancient 
debt  between  them,  and  Sim  Cloyse,  with  native 
sagacity,  had  little  doubt  that  by  observing  a  wise 
reticence  as  to  this  matter  until  the  stroke  of 
business  was  successfully  completed,  and  then  bring- 
ing it  into  the  final  balancing  of  accounts,  he  would 
be  able  to  keep  the  profits  of  the  venture  where  he 
preferred  them  to  be — in  his  own  pocket. 

With  these  views  he  settled  his  partnership  with 
Golden  Adams  in  this  wise :  Cloyse  was  to  supply 
capital  and  pay  expenses ;  Adams  was  to  find 
the  crew  and  do  the  work;  and  the  resulting  profits 
were  to  be  divided  equally.  Nothing  could  seem 
fairer  on  the  face  of  it,  as  is  the  fashion  of  half- 
profit  agreements  of  many  sorts ;  but  in  this,  as 
in  some  of  the  others,  the  capitalist  was  aware  of 
certain  private  expedients  whereby  his  own  share 
might  be  augmented  without  notice  to  the  other 
side,  and  this  wholly  independent  of  the  debt  afore- 
mentioned.    For  the  selling  would  be  in  his  hands. 


A  TALE  OF  TUBS  147 

and  the  selling  would  be  a  transaction  of  secrecy  ; 
and  the  expenses,  after  the  landing  of  the  cargo, 
could  be  put  at  anything  he  pleased. 

The  run  was  to  be  an  uncommon  one  in  another 
respect.  It  was  neither  to  be  a  direct  run,  in  which 
the  cargo  would  be  taken  on  shore  and  carried 
instantly  inland,  nor  were  the  goods  to  be  sunk 
off  shore,  there  to  await  a  timely  opportunity  of 
removal.  They  were  to  be  landed  and  carried  just 
so  far  as  a  convenient  hiding-place,  and  no  farther  ; 
and  there  they  were  to  lie  for  a  week  or  two,  till 
the  affair — if  there  had  been  rumour — had  blown 
over,  and  then  Cloyse  would  provide  means  for 
carrying  them  inland.  Cloyse  and  his  son  pre- 
pared the  hiding-place  with  much  secrecy,  by  the 
easy  process  of  loosening  a  number  of  stones  that 
blocked  the  fore  part  of  one  of  the  cellar-chambers 
of  Hadleigh  Castle.  The  place  was  perfect  for  its 
purpose.  The  cargo  could  be  carried  there  direct 
from  an  easy  landing-place  without  traversing  a 
yard  of  public  road  or  passing  any  habitation  ; 
the  entrance  to  the  cell  once  reblocked,  the  "stuff" 
might  remain  for  any  length  of  time  undisturbed  ; 
and  the  spot  was  close  by  the  end  of  the  quiet 
narrow  lane  leading  up  to  Hadleigh,  by  which  way 
the  final  removal  would  be  made. 


148  CUNNING  MURRELL 

Everything  went  very  well  on  the  night  after 
Hadleigh  Fair.  The  trick  to  draw  off  the  coast- 
guard succeeded  completely,  and  a  hundred  tubs 
were  run  across  Casey  Marsh  and  safely  packed 
away  long  ere  the  patrols  had  begun  to  return. 
But  on  the  very  next  day  Golden  Adams  began 
to  be  a  nuisance.  He  was  in  low  water,  it  seemed, 
and  he  wanted  an  advance  on  account  of  his  share 
of  the  profits.  It  was  in  vain  that  Cloyse  pointed 
out  that  there  were  no  profits  as  yet,  nor  could  be 
till  the  tubs  were  inland,  and  sold.  Golden  Adams, 
who  had  a  blunt  way  of  saying  disagreeable  things, 
pointed  out  that  by  that  time  Cloyse  would  be  in 
a  position  to  repudiate  his  liability  altogether  ;  and 
he  insisted  on  a  payment  on  account  as  guarantee 
of  faith.  To  this  Cloyse  opposed  the  objection  that 
he  had  not  a  penny  of  ready  money  in  the  world, 
having  ventured  it  all  in  the  cargo  ;  a  statement 
which  Adams  made  no  bones  of  calling  a  lie. 

So  the  thing  stood  at  deadlock.  It  appeared  to 
Cloyse  that  all  the  advantages  were  on  his  side, 
since  it  would  be  out  of  the  question  for  Adams 
to  dispose  of  any  of  the  secreted  liquor  on  his  own 
account;  for  that  were  a  transaction  needing  special 
knowledge  and  connections,  which  Adams  had  no 
acquaintance  with  ;  and  moreover,  some  advance  of 


A  TALE  OF  TUBS  149 

money  would  be  needed  for  transport  and  reducing 
— for  the  spirit  was  far  above  proof.  So  that  old 
Sim  Cloyse  bore  his  partner's  angry  departure  with 
serenity,  quiet  in  his  resolve  to  wait  his  own  con- 
venience, dispose  of  the  goods  at  his  own  oppor- 
tunity, and  deal  with  the  proceeds  at  his  own 
discretion. 

He  saw  no  more  of  Adams  for  a  day  or  two, 
and  concluded  that  he  had  gone  home  ;  and  his 
equanimity  endured  till  Murrell  arrived  to  nego- 
tiate on  Adams's  behalf.  At  this  it  received  a 
great  shock.  For  here  was  Murrell  in  possession 
of  the  secret — a  man  as  clever  as  himself,  in  another 
way — and  the  fact  suggested  unpleasant  possi- 
bilities. What  should  prevent  Murrell,  failing  to 
make  an  arrangement,  from  giving  information  to 
the  revenue  officers,  and  pocketing  a  share  of  the 
prize-money  for  himself?  He  was  in  no  way  im- 
plicated in  the  run,  and  stood  to  make  most  by 
revealing  it;  and  in  old  Sim  Cloyse's  simple  system 
of  ethics  what  a  man  made  most  by  was  what  a 
man  would  do.  More,  such  a  catastrophe  would 
mean  worse  than  the  mere  loss  of  the  "  stuff,"  bad 
as  that  would  be  ;  it  would  mean  gaol,  and  a  fine 
whose  magnitude  sent  one  hot  and  cold  to  think 
of — that  is,  if  Murrell's  evidence  could  connect  one 


ISO  CUNNING  MURRELL 

with  the  matter.  Old  Sim  Cloyse  fell  into  a  great 
disquietude. 

On  the  other  hand,  he  had  no  idea  of  how 
far  Murrell's  information  went.  Golden  Adams,  in 
consulting  him,  had  possibly  used  very  general 
terms,  without  distinctly  specifying  what  the  goods 
were,  or  where  they  lay.  Murrell's  use  of  the  words 
"hidden  property" — he  had  never  once  particular- 
ised further — gave  encouragement  to  this  hope, 
though  Cloyse  was  not  persuaded  ;  for  he  could 
not  conceive  a  conversation  between  Golden  Adams 
and  Cunning  Murrell  which  should  not  leave  the 
wizard  in  possession  of  all  that  Adams  had  to  let 
out.  So  that,  on  the  whole,  Sim  Cloyse's  disquietude 
increased  rather  than  diminished  with  reflection. 

Plainly  something  must  be  done,  and  that  quickly. 
If  Murrell  should  turn  informer  it  would  probably 
be  soon,  lest  the  tubs  were  shifted.  Obviously  the 
proper  move  was  to  shift  them  instantly — that  night, 
if  possible.  But  no  arrangements  had  been  made, 
no  men  were  ready,  and  nobody  was  prepared  to 
receive  them.  Cloyse  decided  to  house  the  tubs 
quietly  himself,  and  with  no  help  but  that  of  his 
son — his  son  and  his  horses,  to  be  exact.  He 
knew  he  was  able  to  lay  his  hands  on  three,  two 
that  he  had  bought,  with  the  design  of  selling  them 


A  TALE  OF  TUBS  151 

again,  from  Hayes,  who  ran  the  shrimp-cart  to 
London,  and  an  old  white  vanner.  He  considered 
that  it  would  be  no  difficult  thing  to  lead  the  three 
silently  out  of  Leigh  at  nightfall,  over  the  marsh, 
and  up  the  slope  to  the  castle.  The  tubs  were 
ready  slung  for  carrying,  and  he  expected  that  the 
broad  backs  of  the  horses  could,  with  a  little  con- 
trivance, be  made  to  carry  so  many  that  no  more 
than  three  journeys,  or  at  most  four,  would  be 
necessary.  In  his  old  house  in  Leigh  Strand  and 
the  outbuildings  attached  to  it  there  was  room  and 
to  spare  for  the  tubs  twice  over ;  and  though  no 
doubt  there  was  danger  in  having  the  "stuff"  on 
one's  premises,  it  certainly  seemed  to  be  the  less, 
by  far,  of  the  two  risks  that  faced  him. 

Accordingly  the  horses  were  made  ready,  and  at 
the  proper  time  of  dark,  when  the  Leigh  houses, 
standing  all  ways,  seemed  to  hump  their  high 
shoulders  and  confer  together,  black  and  frowning, 
plotting  to  fall  murderously  on  the  next  passenger 
along  the  narrow  way  beneath,  old  Sim  Cloyse  and 
young  Sim  his  son  went  out  silently  over  the  little 
foothills  and  the  marsh,  leading  their  horses.  The 
night  was  not  so  dark  as  Cloyse  would  have  pre- 
ferred had  the  circumstances  admitted  of  choice ; 
indeed,  at  times  the  moonlight  flung  down  brightly 


152  CUNNING  MURRELL 

on  everything.  But  for  the  most  of  the  time  the 
scurrying  clouds  spread  a  mottle  of  moving  shadow 
that  was  near  as  effectual  a  screen  as  solid  darkness 
itself,  and  the  wind  lay  so  as  to  carry  away  from 
Leigh  and  any  possible  watchers  the  faint  sound 
made  by  horses'  feet  in  the  soft  ground  and  thick 
herbage. 

For  near  three-quarters  of  an  hour  they  went  in 
silence,  picking  their  way  carefully,  because  of  holes 
and  ditches.  For  most  of  the  latter  part  of  the 
journey  the  towers  of  the  castle  were  fitfully  visible, 
at  times  springing  suddenly  as  it  were  into  being, 
pale  and  ghostly  on  the  hilltop,  and  vanishing  as 
quickly  under  the  shade  of  the  next  cloud. 

There  was  a  gate  in  a  hedge  a  hundred  and  fifty 
yards  from  the  nearest  corner  of  the  castle,  and 
having  opened  it  with  noiseless  care,  young  Cloyse 
stayed  there  with  the  horses,  while  his  father  went 
forward  to  observe. 

There  was  no  sound  but  the  hum  of  the  wind, 
and  nothing  moved  that  the  wind  did  not  stir, 
save  the  unresting  tide  of  shadows.  Cloyse  crept 
forward  silently,  hidden  by  shade,  bush,  and  fallen 
masonry,  till  he  stood  in  a  narrow  passage  lying 
along  the  face  of  the  foundations,  between  them 
and  a  row  of  bushes. 


A  TALE  OF  TUBS  153 

The  hole  was  closed  still,  and  it  was  plain  that 
the  stones  piled  to  block  it  had  not  been  disturbed. 
Cloyse  crept  back  as  silently  as  he  had  come,  and 
beckoned  to  young  Sim, 

They  led  the  horses  up,  and  the  older  man,  taking 
a  candle-end  from  his  pocket,  was  indicating  by 
gestures  where  the  animals  could  best  be  tethered, 
when  young  Sim,  with  a  start,  pointed  up  to  the 
wall-foot  just  above  them.  Cloyse  had  scarce  time 
to  turn  when  a  blinding  flash  met  him  ;  and 
with  a  crash  in  his  ears  and  a  stinging  pang  in 
an  arm,  he  realised  that  he  had  been  fired  at, 
and  hit. 

The  horses  started  and  tugged  at  their  halters, 
and  it  was  more  by  instinct  than  because  of  reflec- 
tion that  young  Sim  crouched  and  began  to  hurr\- 
downhill  with  two  of  them  ;  and  his  father,  his 
wound  notwithstanding,  seized  the  other  horse 
and  followed,  crouching  also,  taking  shelter  of  the 
animal  and  making  for  the  bushes. 

He  had  gone  twenty  yards,  perhaps,  when  there 
came  another  shot,  and  broke  a  thorn  bush.  There 
was  no  pursuit,  however  ;  and  father  and  son  pre- 
sently found  themselves  beyond  the  gate  and  in 
comparative  safety,  with  a  little  relief  to  qualify 
a  great  deal  of  terror  and  surprise.     The  wound 


154  CUNNING  MURRELL 

bled  a  good  deal,  and  was  painful,  but  it  was  little 
more  than  a  deep  graze,  ploughing  the  outer  sur- 
face of  the  upper  arm  scarce  a  quarter  of  an  inch 
at  the  deepest.  A  tied  handkerchief  restrained 
the  bleeding  for  a  time,  and  with  many  tremors 
and  much  floundering  the  two  reached  home  at 
last. 

Old  Sim  Cloyse  was  disquieted  before  his  journey, 
but  he  quaked  after  it.  For  he  made  no  doubt 
that  he  had  been  fired  at  by  a  revenue  man, 
and  he  lay  the  night  in  hourly  expectation  of  a 
party  to  arrest  him.  But  the  morning  came  and 
found  him  safe,  and  it  went,  and  left  him  undis- 
turbed. With  the  passing  hours  reflection  got  the 
better  of  his  fears,  and  he  began  to  doubt  if  his 
plan  had  been  frustrated  by  the  coastguard  after 
all.  Otherwise  why  was  there  no  pursuit  ?  And 
why  was  he  still  left  unmolested  ?  Young  Sim  had 
perceived  but  a  single  dark  figure,  and  had  scarce 
pointed  at  it  when  the  shot  was  fired.  True  there 
were  two  shots,  but  they  might  easily  have  been 
fired  by  one  man  with  a  pair  of  pistols.  And  if 
no  Queen's  men  were  concerned  that  one  man  could 
scarce  be  other  than  Golden  Adams.  Adams  was 
a  dangerous  sort  of  fellow,  and  quite  likely  to  have 
mounted  guard  over  the  tubs  with  a  pair  of  pistols, 


A  TALE  OF  TUBS  155 

resolved  to  prevent  any  attempt  at  removing  them 
till  his  demands  were  satisfied. 

Now  that  the  notion  had  occurred  to  him,  Cloyse 
wondered  that  he  had  not  thought  of  it  before,  nor 
laid  his  plans  in  view  of  the  possibility.  But  at 
present  he  was  by  no  means  sure,  after  all,  that 
his  assailant  was  not  a  coastguardsman,  as  he  had 
at  first  supposed.  So  he  sent  young  Sim  out  to 
spy  about  Leigh  for  an  hour. 

Young  Sim's  observations  were  reassuring.  The 
coastguard  were  about  their  customary  duties  in 
the  ordinary  sleepy  course ;  the  women  hung  out 
their  linen  and  clinked  about  the  muddy  Strand 
in  pattens,  and  quarrelled  at  the  pump ;  the  men 
waited  the  tide,  mended  their  nets,  smoked  their 
pipes,  and  lounged  about  the  Smack  Inn  ;  and  in 
all  Leigh  there  was  not  a  new  thing  to  hear  or 
to  talk  about  save  only  the  chances  of  a  change 
of  wind.  Plainly  there  had  been  no  disturbance  of 
the  coastguard.  If  there  had  been  anything  like  a 
seizure  during  the  night — were  it  merely  of  one 
square  bottle  of  Dutch  gin — nobody  could  have 
walked  the  length  of  Leigh  Strand  without  hear- 
ing of  it  a  dozen  times.  The  linen  would  still  lie 
within,  and  the  quarrel  at  the  pump  would  be  held 
over  till  to-morrow,  or  even  postponed  for  a  week, 


156  CUNNING  MURRELL 

while  the  business  was  discussed  at  length,  at  large, 
and  again  ;  and  the  substitute  coastguard  would 
have  been  in  a  riot  of  distraction. 

Old  Sim  Cloyse  was  relieved  ;  but  with  his  spirits 
his  natural  spite  rose  also,  and  he  was  more  than 
ever  obstinately  resolved  to  seize  the  tubs  at  any 
cost,  were  it  only  to  damnify  Golden  Adams.  But 
meantime  young  Sim  extended  his  reconnaissance 
to  Hadleigh,  by  the  road,  and  undertook,  though 
with  no  great  readiness,  to  take  a  peep  at  the 
castle  by  daylight,  and  if  possible  to  ascertain  if 
anything  were  yet  removed. 

He  had  a  drink  at  the  Castle  Inn,  and  another 
at  the  Crown.  At  the  Crown  Abel  Pennyfather 
was  talking  of  crops  to  the  landlord,  nobody  else 
being  there  to  hear ;  but  at  the  Castle  Dan  Fisk 
was  reciting,  with  facetious  embellishment,  the 
story  of  Abel  Pennyfather's  cow,  and  the  terrific 
adventures  of  Jarge  Crick.  And  in  the  tap-room 
Jarge  Crick  himself,  out  of  a  job  for  the  time,  but 
in  no  lack  of  eleemosynary  threepenny  from  a 
constant  succession  of  gaping  inquirers,  was  re- 
peating his  last  night's  experiences  again  and 
again,  having  already  arrived,  by  natural  accretion 
and  the  concatenation  of  pints,  at  a  tale  of  hundreds 
of  phantom  winged  horses,  of  all  known  and  un- 


A  TALE  OF  TUBS  157 

known  colours,  bestridden  by  goblins  and  skeletons, 
belching  lightnings  and  thunderbolts  about  the  hill, 
whereon  Black  Men,  White  Ladies,  and  the  Devil 
himself  disported  at  large  under  the  shadows  of  a 
flying  cohort  of  witches  on  broomsticks,  directed 
by  Mrs,  Martin  and  her  niece  Dorrily  Thorn. 

But  there  was  no  word  anywhere  of  slung  tubs, 
no  talk  of  the  coastguard,  no  hint  of  any  but  super- 
natural disturbance  of  last  night's  quiet  on  the 
marshes.  In  that  respect  young  Sim  took  comfort ; 
but  there  was  matter  for  more  misgiving  in  Jarge 
Crick's  tale.  Through  all  its  multiplication  of  maze 
and  muddle  it  was  plain  to  infer  that  Castle  Hill 
and  the  marshes  had  not  been  so  wholly  void  of 
by-chance  observers  as  they  had  seemed. 

Young  Sim  Cloyse  took  to  the  fields  east  of  the 
lane,  so  as  to  approach  the  castle  without  passing 
within  hail  of  Banham's.  He  was  a  careful  youth, 
as  became  his  ancestry,  and  as  his  sly-heavy  face,  a 
smoother  copy  of  his  father's,  gave  hint ;  but  he 
was  a  youth  notwithstanding,  and  his  divagations 
with  Mag  Banham  had  led  him  farther  than  he 
meant.  For  indeed  they  had  begun  less  from  idle 
fancy — though  that  had  its  part — than  from  pique 
at  his  repulse  by  Dorrily  Thorn,  and  from  the 
vanity  of  an  obstinate  nature.     And  now  he  found 


158  CUNNING  MURRELL 

himself  so  far   entangled  that   he  took   refuge   in 
caution  and  avoidance. 

The  black  cottage  came  in  view  at  one  point  of 
his  walk,  and  he  was  in  some  degree  tempted  to  go 
aside  on  chance  of  meeting  Dorrily ;  for  the  girl 
was  not  a  fool,  and  plainly  she  must  see  the 
superior  attractions  of  his  circumstances  and  his 
expectations  from  his  father,  over  the  poverty  of  a 
common  seaman  ;  to  say  nothing  of  personal  com- 
parison, wherein  his  dense  complacency  would 
admit  of  no  disadvantage.  But  for  the  moment 
there  was  more  pressing  business,  and  he  went  on 
by  a  circuitous  path,  which  led  him  to  the  eastern 
side  of  the  castle. 

He  had  seen  nobody  since  he  had  left  Hadleigh, 
and  he  could  neither  see  anybody  now  nor  hear  a 
sound  of  human  origin.  He  took  his  way  softly 
among  bushes  up  such  a  part  of  the  hill  as  should 
lead  him  unseen  to  a  view  of  the  place  of  storage. 

It  seemed  to  be  still  undisturbed.  He  crept  a 
little  closer.  It  was  undisturbed,  without  a  doubt ; 
the  stones  still  blocked  the  opening,  and  there  was 
no  sign  that  one  had  been  shifted.  He  listened 
again,  and  peered  about  him.  The  stillness  was 
such  that  here,  bending  low  near  the  ground,  he 
could  distinctly  hear  the  mumble  of  the  grazing  of 


A  TALE  OF  TUBS  i59 

a  score  of  sheep  on  the  marsh  by  the  hill-foot.  He 
grew  so  confident  that  he  rose  boldly  and  approached 
the  broken  masonry :  and  then  on  a  sudden  was 
near  stricken  to  his  knees  by  a  loud  voice  just 
above  him. 

"  Ho-ho  !  "  sang  the  voice.  "  Yow  nigh  made  me 
drop  my  glass,  I  jumped  so  !  " 

And  the  face  of  Roboshobery  Dove,  wide  and 
brown,  and  crowned  as  with  a  halo  by  the  shiny 
hat,  looked  down  from  his  loop-hole. 

Young  Sim  gathered  his  wits  together  as  well  as 
he  might,  and  made  an  indistinct  answer,  turning 
from  the  piled  stones  and  affecting  intense  interest 
in  the  view  toward  Leigh. 

"  I  den't  hear  yow  comin' — not  a  sound,"  Dove 
went  on  ;  "  been  watchin'  so  close  for  prizes  goin' 
to  Chatham.  But  I  han't  seen  one  now  for  near 
a  week." 

"No?"  answered  young  Sim,  with  an  uneasy 
effort  at  airiness — a  thing  beyond  his  nature  at  any 
time — "  Well — I — I  mus'  be  gettin'  on." 

And  he  went  lumbering  down  toward  the  copse 
and  the  gate  in  the  way  he  had  led  the  horses  the 
night  before  ;  the  plain  consternation  and  perplexity 
on  his  face  making  an  odd  contrast  with  the 
laboured  burlesque  of  careless  frolic  in  his  swinging 


i6o  CUNNING  MURRELL 

arms  and  legs,  whereby  he  strove  to  impart  to  his 
back  view  an  aspect  of  buoyant  thoughtlessness 
and  jaunty  ease. 

Roboshobery  Dove  gazed  from  his  perch  on  this 
exhibition  with  a  mind  innocent  of  suspicion,  as 
ever ;  but  the  hard-faced  man  who  crouched  and 
peered  from  the  copse  below,  with  remains  of 
broken  food  lying  near  him,  and  pistols  in  his 
pockets,  saw  it  from  the  front,  and  was  grimly 
amused. 


CHAPTER    XIV 

AN    INVITATION    OVER   A   FENCE 

IT  was  natural  that  Dorrily  Thorn  should  do 
what  was  possible  to  withdraw  her  aunt  from 
the  notice  of  the  neighbours,  in  the  circumstances 
wherein  she  stood  —  and,  indeed,  in  a  smaller 
measure,  to  withdraw  herself  Jarge  Crick's  fan- 
tasies had  not  only  grown  by  his  own  embellish- 
ments and  expansions,  but  by  the  repetition  and 
imagination  employed  in  carrying  them  through 
the  district ;  and  soon  there  was  not  a  household  in 
all  Rochford  Hundred  that  had  not  the  news  of  the 
horrid  bedevilment  of  Castle  Hill  on  the  night 
when  Abel  Pennyfather's  cow  went  astray,  and 
scarce  half  a  dozen  that  had  the  same  tale,  except 
in  so  far  as  all  agreed  that  Mrs.  Martin  made  a 
leading  figure  in  it.  More,  Em  Banham  was  "took 
comical"  again,  and  was  growing  worse.  The 
shock  of  the  explosion  and  the  excitement  of  fair 
day  had  expended  their  influence,  and  now,  in  the 
L 


i62  CUNNING  MURRELL 

dull  round  of  daily  muddle  that  was  all  her  life,  she 
was  relapsing  into  the  state  of  "  all-overs "  that 
Cunning  Murrell's  art  had  proved  to  have  been  the 
demoniac  work  of  Mrs.  Martin.  The  consequent 
demeanour  of  the  villagers  was  unpleasant.  There 
was  something  peculiarly  insufferable  in  the 
laboured  civility  of  the  most  of  them,  something 
more  hopeless  and  repellent  altogether  than  the 
mere  persecution  of  daring  hobbledehoys  who  cried 
"  Witch  ! "  and  flung  clods.  When  a  woman 
changed  her  course,  so  as  to  pass  to  the  right, 
offered  her  "Good  morning"  with  a  visible  anxiety 
to  get  it  out  before  the  other  could  speak  (a  needful 
precaution  with  all  witches),  and  went  off  out  of 
sight  as  quickly  as  might  be,  there  was  that  in  the 
civility  that  made  it  worse  than  insult.  It  could 
not  be  resented,  and  it  was  sign  of  a  cutting  off 
from  human  accord. 

So  that  the  two  women  kept  to  themselves  more 
than  ever,  and  did  none  of  the  occasional  field  work 
wherewith  they  had  aided  their  small  resources  in 
other  years.  Instead  they  busied  themselves  more 
in  their  own  little  garden,  whose  produce  went  a 
good  way  toward  keeping  them  in  food.  Dorrily 
found  that  this  work  was  good  for  her  aunt,  who 
was  quiet  and  seemingly  happy  so  long  as  she  was 


AN  INVITATION  OVER  A  FENCE     163 

undisturbed  ;  though  the  clouding  of  her  mind  per- 
sisted, and  made  the  girl's  loneliness  harder  to 
support  than  ever. 

The  night  succeeding  that  on  which  Dorrily  had 
been  awakened  by  the  sound  of  shots,  was  another 
of  little  rest  for  Mrs.  Martin,  albeit  there  was  no 
disturbance  from  without ;  and  when  she  showed 
some  signs  of  fatigue  in  the  garden  the  next  morn- 
ing, Dorrily  was  quick  to  persuade  her  to  rest,  and 
soon  had  the  satisfaction  to  see  her  dozing  in  her  arm- 
chair in  the  keeping-room.  So  she  left  her  there, 
partly  closed  the  door,  and  returned  to  her  work. 

She  had  piled  aside  the  early  bean-stalks  which 
she  had  rooted  up,  keeping  one  or  two  of  the  largest 
for  earwig-capture,  and  now  she  set  to  loosening 
the  ground  they  had  occupied.  She  dug  and 
turned  steadily,  and  it  was  plain  to  see  that  the 
symmetry  of  her  figure  owed  its  debt  to  bodily 
exercise  ;  for  on  that  condition  alone  is  it  permitted 
a  woman  to  use  a  spade  with  grace. 

She  was  watching  her  work,  and  was  conscious 
of  no  witness  till  a  shadow  fell  along  the  ground 
before  her,  and  young  Sim  Cloyse's  voice  said  : 

"  Yow  den't  ote  to  be  diggin'  a  garden  with 
hands  like  they.  Not  when  yow  might  be  in  a  silk 
gownd,  takin'  your  ease." 


i64  CUNNING  MURRELL 

He  leaned  on  the  fence  with  his  elbows,  smiling 
as  amiably  as  an  unsuitable  countenance  would 
permit.  Dorrily  said  nothing,  though  she  reflected 
that  Jack  Martin  would  have  made  no  compli- 
ments, but  would  have  taken  the  spade  to  do  the 
work  himself;  as,  for  that  matter,  would  Steve 
Lingood  or  Roboshobery  Dove,  wooden  leg  not- 
withstanding. 

"Not  but  what  it  doan't  suit  yow,"  young  Sim 
went  on  gallantly.     "  Most  things  do." 

"  Thank  'ee,  Master  Cloyse,"  Dorrily  answered 
calmly,  without  looking  at  him  ;  and  went  on 
digging. 

Young  Sim  shifted  his  feet  and  rubbed  his  palm 
over  an  ear.     He  was  considering  what  to  say  next. 

"  'Tis  a  fine  day  agin,"  he  remarked  at  last. 

Dorrily  assented. 

"  An'  'tis  lookin'  like  a  good  harvest." 

Dorrily  thought  so,  too. 

Young  Sim  shifted  his  feet  again,  and  rubbed 
the  other  ear. 

"  Yow  doan't  fare  over  glad  to  see  me,"  he  com- 
plained. 

That  was  the  truth  ;  so  Dorrily  said  nothing. 

"  But  'tis  a  monsus  treat  for  me  when  I  see  you." 
He    said    it   with   an    earnest    leer   that    brought 


AX  INVITATION  OVER  A  FENCE     165 

a  flush  to  Dorrily's  cheek,  and  set  her  digging 
faster. 

Having  got  out  this  sentiment,  young  Sim  took 
breath  again.  It  is  not  easy  for  one  person  to  keep 
going  a  conversation  of  this  sort.  The  pause 
endured  for  a  few  seconds,  and  then  he  tried 
another  tack. 

"  I  be  pardners  with  my  father  now,"  he  said, 
complacently. 

Dorrily  was  glad  to  hear  it. 

"An'  we're  takin'  arl  Paigles's  crops  this  year 
for  money  owin',"  he  went  on,  with  pride. 

This  commercial  victory  only  stirred  Dorrily  so 
far  as  to  say :  "  I  'm  very  sorry  for  Master  Paigles." 
A  perversity  shocking  to  young  Sim's  ideas. 

He  stared  blankly  for  some  little  while,  more  at 
a  loss  than  ever.  A.t  last  he  said  plaintively : 
"  Yow  be  deadly  hard  on  a  chap." 

Dorrily  began  to  feel  a  little  impatient.  "  Hard 
on  what  chap  .''  "  she  asked,  disingenuously. 

"  Ho  !  yow  dunno  !  Not  you  !  "  young  Sim 
replied,  with  a  grin.  "  But  yow  han't  no  need,"  he 
went  on.  "  I  count  I  be  as  good  as  one  or  two 
round  these  parts  ;  so  now  !  " 

Dorrily  did  not  dispute  the  proposition. 

"  An'  could  spend  fower  pound  a  week  if  need  was." 


i66  CUNNING  MURRELL 

This  was  another  remark  that  seemed  to  need  no 
answer. 

"  Ay,  an'  putt  by,  too,  arl  the  while." 

Dorrily  left  her  spade  in  the  ground  and  stood 
to  tie  the  strings  of  her  sun-bonnet  closer.  Above 
the  stretch  of  green  meadow  that  rose  before  her, 
with  its  near  line  of  black  fence,  there  was  a  patch 
of  turnip  ground,  and  beyond  and  above  that  again 
a  jumble  of  sheds  and  a  house  in  the  middle  of 
them.  A  female  figure  in  a  print  gown  stood  by 
the  nearest  shed,  shading  eyes  and  looking  down 
toward  the  black  cottage. 

"  Prittywell  fair  be  Saturday  week,"  said  young 
Sim  Cloyse. 

The  remark  might  seem  inconsequent,  but  there 
was  no  disputing  it.  So  Dorrily  said  "  Yes,"  and 
turned  to  her  work  again. 

"  Yow  fare  dull  here,  I  count,"  young  Sim  pur- 
sued, getting  it  out  with  a  rush.  "  Come  'ee  along 
o'  me  a-fairin'  to  Prittywell  fair  o'  Saturday  week." 

The  sun-bonnet  hid  Dorrily's  face  as  she  stooped, 
so  that  he  saw  nothing  of  frown  and  bitten  lip  ;  but 
went  on  to  offer  the  greatest  inducement  he  could 
invent. 

"  I  '11  take  two  pound  and  spend  it  arl."  he  said. 

Dorrily  left    the    spade    again  and    stood  erect. 


AN  INVITATION  OVER  A  FENCE     167 

There  was  a  white  spot  on  the  clear  brown  skin  at 
the  turn  of  each  nostril,  and  young  Sim  Cloyse 
took  his  elbows  from  the  fence  when  he  saw  her 
face. 

"I  thank  'ee,  Master  Cloyse,"  she  said;  "but  I 
don't  go  fairin'  these  times  at  all.  But  if  you  '11 
turn  about  an'  look  up  to  Banham's,  'haps  you  '11 
be  reminded  of  Hadleigh  fair,  which  was  none  so 
long  ago." 

Sim  started  and  turned  his  head,  and  truly 
enough  there  was  Mag  Banham  in  her  print  gown, 
far  up  the  slope  by  the  sheds,  looking  down  at  him. 

"Dang't!"  exclaimed  young  Sim  under  his 
breath  ;  and  backed  away  sheepishly  toward  the 
lane. 


CHAPTER    XV 


A   PRIVATE   DANCE 


OLD  Sim  Cloyse  considered  his  son's  reports, 
and  made  himself  certain  that  the  coast- 
guard had  had  no  hand  in  the  interruption  of  his 
enterprise.  His  reason  also  inclined  him  to  the 
conviction  that  he  owed  his  scored  arm  to  Golden 
Adams.  Young  Sim  was  very  suspicious  of  Robo- 
shobery  Dove  ;  but  perhaps  his  judgment  was 
affected  by  the  scare  he  had  suffered.  In  any  case 
old  Sim's  course  was  resolved  on :  to  buy  off 
Cunning  Murrell, 

Plainly  he  had  not  as  yet  given  the  revenue  men 
information,  but  he  might  do  it  whenever  he  began 
to  doubt  that  the  service  of  Adams's  interests 
would  pay  as  well.  And  it  was  certain  that  there 
could  be  no  getting  at  the  tubs  while  that  desperado 
sat  over  them  every  night  with  loaded  pistols.  So 
that  on  every  score  it  was  necessary  to  win  over 
Murrell :  in  order  to  avoid  the  interference  of  the 

168 


A  PRIVATE  DANCE  169 

coastguard,  and  in  order  to  circumvent  Golden 
Adams.  For  Cloyse  was  resolved  above  all  things 
that  now  Adams  should  get  not  one  penny  from 
the  venture,  even  if  he,  Sim  Cloyse  himself,  had  to 
hand  over  the  whole  thing,  tubs,  Adams,  and  all,  to 
the  Queen's  men  ;  more,  that  he  should  be  punished, 
in  one  way  or  another,  with  every  circumstance  of 
spite.  For  one  of  the  few  luxuries  that  old  Sim 
Cloyse  was  ever  willing  to  pay  for,  and  to  pay  for 
well,  was  to  grind  the  face  of  an  enemy :  to  grind 
it  off  his  head,  to  grind  it  till  the  very  head  was 
ground  off  his  shoulders. 

But  he  saw  no  reason  yet  for  doing  it  expensively 
this  time.  First,  at  any  rate,  he  would  see  what 
could  be  done  to  secure  the  "stuff";  for  it  was 
plain  that  with  Cunning  Murrell  it  must  be  merely 
a  matter  of  price.  So  he  drew  on  his  coat,  with 
the  careful  aid  of  young  Sim — for  the  sleeve  was 
sore  tight  over  the  bandage — took  his  thick  stick 
and  his  glazed  hat,  and  started  up  Church  Hill  to 
gain  Hadleigh  by  road.  For  the  present  he  was 
shy  of  the  way  over  the  marshes. 

He  timed  himself  to  be  there  as  darkness  fell. 
One  of  his  reasons  was  that  he  was  not  anxious  to 
exhibit  himself  publicly  as  a  visitor  at  Murrell's 
door ;  for  he  was   so  much  a  man  of  note  in  the 


170  CUNNING  MURRELL 

neighbourhood  that  the  report  of  such  a  visit  would 
give  rise  to  much  discussion  and  inconvenient  con- 
jecture. But  in  any  case  at  nightfall  was  the  like- 
liest time  to  see  the  cunning  man  ;  for  in  daylight 
he  was  often  hard  to  come  at,  and  once  night  was 
fully  set  in  he  was  like  to  be  off  on  his  travels  and 
lurkings,  with  umbrella  and  frail. 

The  light  was  at  its  sweetest  and  mellowest:  the 
light  that  comes  with  clean  air  and  sweet  smells  at 
the  end  of  a  shining  day,  soothing  the  eyes  and 
painting  the  world  with  its  loveliest  colours.  Not 
with  red  sunset,  for  that  was  yet  to  come :  but 
dazzling  no  more,  and  setting  all  things  above  the 
long  shadows  in  a  mild  harmony,  where  the  rawest 
noonday  hue  is  suave.  The  grey  old  church  tower 
stood  high  against  the  blue,  and  dead  John  Loten's 
ivy  stirred  in  the  light  breeze.  Leigh  roofs 
clustered  red  below,  and  beyond  them  was  the 
soft  salt  water  lying  out  to  sea  for  many  a  calm 
mile. 

But  old  Sim  Cloyse  tramped  ahead  on  business 
intent,  and  bothered  his  crafty  old  brain  with  no 
fancies.  He  went  round  behind  the  tall,  dull 
rectory  wall  and  over  the  waste  piece  beyond, 
undisturbed  by  the  noisy  debate  of  the  rooks  in  the 
rectory  ground.     He  climbed  readily  over  the  gate 


A  PRIVATE  DANCE  171 

into  the  first  beanfield,  for  he  was  no  very  old  man 
yet,  though  they  called  him  old  Sim.  And  so  he 
went  along  by  the  side  of  one  field  and  across  the 
next,  till  he  came  out  at  the  gate  in  the  road,  just 
short  of  Lapwater  Hall,  and  set  his  face  toward  the 
now  reddening  sun.  He  never  turned  his  head  as 
he  passed  the  hall  itself,  to  look  for  the  highway- 
man's ghost  that  offered  wayfarers  a  drink  of  beer  ; 
for  he  had  no  superstitions  outside  the  system  of 
book-keeping  by  double  entry.  In  fine,  he  kept  his 
wide  face  and  his  little  eyes  steadily  toward  the 
sun,  till  a  sound  of  gallop  and  rumble  on  the  road 
behind  him  was  come  so  near  that  he  must  needs 
sidle  toward  the  ditch,  and  look  about  him  to  save 
his  bones. 

It  was  the  shrimp-cart  from  Leigh,  the  fastest 
thing  on  wheels  from  here  to  London,  whither  it 
was  bound.  Built  like  a  roomy  farm  waggon,  but 
lighter  everywhere,  piled  high  with  hampers,  and 
spinning  along  at  the  heels  of  four  stout  bays,  its 
passing  was  the  event  of  the  evening  along  forty 
miles  of  road.  There  was  one  change  of  horses,  at 
Shenfield  ;  and  though  it  was  called  the  shrimp- 
cart,  shrimps  made  a  small  part  of  its  load,  which 
was  of  fish  of  every  sort  that  the  Leigh  fleet 
brought   in,   and    of    cockles     and    oysters.      The 


172  CUNNING  MURRELL 

shrimp-cart  was  also  the  Leigh  coach,  in  its  way. 
For,  in  the  rare  event  of  any  man  of  Leigh  or 
Hadleigh  daring  to  go  a-journeying  so  far  as 
London,  or,  as  was  scarcely  less  rare,  to  some  place 
distant  on  the  way,  he  sought  passage  in  the 
shrimp-cart,  where  a  seat  among  the  hampers  was 
always  easy  to  find. 

Sim  Cloyse  stood  up  by  the  ditch,  and  the 
shrimp-cart  went  by  with  a  rattle  and  a  whisk  of 
dust,  the  driver  raising  his  whip  in  salutation  as  he 
passed.  In  a  moment  it  was  ahead,  visible  merely 
as  a  receding  pile  of  hampers,  bedded  on  a  little 
cloud  of  dust.  But  it  carried  a  passenger,  who  sat 
up  there  among  the  hinder  baskets,  reading  in  a 
little  book.  Cloyse  shaded  his  eyes  with  a  hand, 
and  though  it  was  not  easy  to  see,  because  of  the 
sun  beyond  the  cart,  he  thought  he  could  recognise 
the  passenger,  and  that  it  was  Cunning  Murrell. 
And,  indeed,  he  was  right. 

This  set  him  doubting  afresh.  Why  had  Murrell 
been  to  Leigh,  and  where  was  he  going  now  ?  His 
own  business  so  filled  old  Sim  Cloyse's  eyes  and 
head  that  he  did  not  stay  to  reflect  that  the  wise 
man's  concerns  lay  everywhere  among  the  people 
of  those  parts,  and  that  any  other  of  them  might 
well   have   taken    him   to    Leigh,   or    even    on    to 


A  PRIVATE  DANCE  173 

London,  for  that  matter  ;  but  was  uneasy  at  the 
conjecture  that  Murrell  must  have  been  to  the 
coastguard  officers.  For  a  moment  Cloyse  hesi- 
tated in  the  road;  but  painly  nothing  was  to  be 
got  by  hanging  back  now,  so  he  went  ahead  again. 

It  was  dusk  when  he  came  up  with  the  black 
trees  and  the  Httle  point  of  spire  that  marked 
Hadleigh,  and  the  shrimp-cart  had  passed  through 
the  village  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  since. 
He  turned  the  corner  into  the  lane,  and  rapped  with 
his  stick  at  Murrell's  door.  He  could  see  that  a 
rushlight  was  burning  in  the  keeping-room  ;  but 
whether  that  meant  that  Murrell  was  within,  and 
so  had  not  gone  on  farther  in  the  shrimp-cart,  he 
could  not  guess  :  the  ways  of  the  house  being 
strange  to  him. 

Ann  Pett  opened  the  door,  first  a  little  way ;  and 
then,  without  speaking,  she  flung  it  wide,  for  she 
had  had  her  orders.  Murrell  was  sitting-  at  his 
table,  the  candle  burning  at  his  elbow,  and  his  head 
bowed  over  his  little  book. 

"  Come  yow  in,  Master  Cloyse,"  he  said,  without 
raising  his  head.  "Come  yow  in,  an'  soon  I  will 
answer  your  doubt." 

Cloyse  entered,  and  the  door  was  shut  behind 
him.     He  had  never  been  in  this  room  before,  well 


174  CUNNING  MURRELL 

as  he  knew  the  cunning  man  by  repute,  and  now  he 
sat  and  stared ;  not  because  the  room,  nor  even  his 
odd  reception,  impressed  him  particularly,  but 
because  there  was  nothing  else  to  do  ;  for  Murrell  not 
only  kept  his  eyes  on  his  book,  but  raised  his  hand 
to  enjoin  silence.  It  was  a  strange  little  book,  Cloyse 
noticed  ;  rather  like  a  fat  prayer-book  sewed  in  a 
pocket-book  cover;  though  instead  of  print  it  seemed 
to  be  filled  with  small  writing  and  cranky  figures. 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Ann  Pett  had  vanished 
as  soon  as  she  had  seen  Cloyse  seated,  and  now  he 
sat  and  stared,  and  wondered  honestly  how  Murrell 
had  known  it  was  he,  since  he  had  never  once 
looked  up  at  him. 

Presently  Murrell  said,  still  with  his  eyes  on  the 
book :  "  As  to  your  doubt,  Master  Cloyse,  the 
answer  is  :  '  They  do  not.'" 

Old  Sim  Cloyse  stared  harder  than  ever.  He 
had  come  prepared  to  be  uncommonly  civil,  and 
was  loth  to  judge  the  other  drunk. 

"  As  to  your  question,  I  have  the  answer,  but 
wait  till  you  put  it." 

Murrell  shut  the  book,  put  it  in  the  drawer 
among  the  papers,  and  took  off  the  iron-rimmed 
spectacles.  Then  he  sat  back  in  his  chair,  and 
faced  his  visitor. 


A  PRIVATE  DANCE  175 

Cloyse  stooped,  and  put  his  hat  on  the  floor, 
under  his  chair,  which  was  the  polite  thing  to  do 
with  one's  hat  in  those  parts.  His  good  manners 
were  grown  somewhat  rusty  from  disuse,  as  he 
knew,  and  he  was  anxious  to  forget  nothing.  Then 
as  he  rose  he  made  to  wipe  his  forehead  with  his 
hand,  an  action  which  becomes  a  habit  with  them 
that  wear  hard  glazed  hats  ;  but  he  had  forgotten 
his  sore  arm,  and  half  way  he  let  it  drop,  with 
a  twitch  of  the  mouth.  Nothing  ever  escaped 
Cunning  Murrell's  eyes  that  it  was  possible  for  a 
man  to  see. 

"Good  evenin'.  Master  Murr'll— sir,"  old  Sim 
began,  with  a  quick  addition  of  the  last  word, 
which  he  was  near  missing.  'Yow  were  kind 
enough  for  to  inform  me  when  fust  I  were  at  the 
door — for  to  inform  me  'they  do  not.'  If  'tis  no 
liberty,  I  would  wish  for  to  say  I  den't  quite 
unnerstand." 

"Yowcome  to  me.  Master  Cloyse,  with  doubts 
in  your  mind,  as  many  oathers  do.  Yow  were 
troubled  with  this  doubt,  arl  the  way  here  an 
before :  '  Do  the  coastguard  know  of  arl  my  busi- 
ness consarns  for,  say,  a  fortnit,  or  any  of  them  ? ' 
Troubled  in  your  mind  with  these  hainish  an' 
grievous   doubts,   yow    come   to    me  for  relief,  as 


176  CUNNING  MURRELL 

many  oathers  do ;  an'  I  answer  the  doubts  in  your 
mind  plain  on  the  instant.  '  They  do  not '  were 
my  answer." 

Whether  or  not  old  Sim  Cloyse  was  impressed 
exactly  in  the  way  that  Murrell  desired — and 
Murrell  loved  his  artistry  for  its  own  sake — he 
took  the  explanation  gratefully. 

"  I  thank'ee,  Master  Murr'll,  sir,"  he  said  ;  "  an' 
yow  hev  made  my  mind  much  easier.  An'  most 
wonnerful  scientific,  too,  knowin'  the  thoughts  o' 
my  head  afore  I  had  time  to  speak  'em.  An'  most 
kind,  sarten  to  say,  arter  I  had  treated  yow  that 
rude  when  yow  so  kindly  give  me  a  wisit.  For 
that  behaviour,  Master  Murr'll,  I  ask  pardon.  I 
were  took  that  of  a  heap,  I  den't  know  what 
to  say." 

Cunning  Murrell  lay  back  in  the  chair  that  was  a 
deal  too  big  for  him,  watching  Cloyse's  face  keenly 
as  he  brought  forth  laboriously  his  unaccustomed 
apologetics.  But  he  said  nothing,  and  Cloyse 
went  on. 

"  I  den't  know  what  to  say.  Master  Murr'll,  sir, 
as  well  yow  may  guess,  the  business  bein'  what  it 
were.  For  when  a  man  hev  business  o'  that  sort, 
Master  Murr'll,  it  be  nat'ral  he  doan't  crake  'bout 
it;  ben't  it?" 


A  PRIVATE  DANCE  177 

He  looked  appealingly  at  the  little  old  man,  but 
his  only  answer  was  a  calm  "  Go  on." 

"A  man  doan't  crake  'bout  sich  business,  an'  he 
doan't  'spect  anybody  else  to  know.  Consekins 
when  a  genelman — even  a  genelman  o'  great 
larnin'  as  he  respects,  like  yourself — kirns  an' 
plumps  out  with  it  arl  to  's  face,  'tis  nat'ral  he  be 
dunted  and  marthered  arltogither.  An'  'haps  he 
sez  what  he  doan't  mean,  bein'  took  so,  an'  wantin' 
time  to  get  his  thotes  togither." 

Old.  Sim  Cloyse  was  suffering  for  his  politeness, 
for  he  felt  sore  need  of  his  hat  to  turn  about  in 
his  hands  while  he  approached  the  real  business. 

"  But  when  you  'd  a-gone,"  he  went  on,  "  I  thote, 
an'  I  thote,  an'  I  see  I  'd  a-bin  wrong  to  mistrust 
yow.  Master  Murr'll,  sir — no,  I  doan't  say  to  mis- 
trust you,  'cause  I  den't  do  that,  so  celebrated  a 
genelman  as  yow  be ;  but  I  mean  I  see  I  'd  a-bin 
wrong,  to  make,  to — to — to  fare,  to  seem,  to  mis- 
trust you,  Master  Murr'll."  Old  Sim  was  sure 
nobody  could  get  it  down  any  finer  than  that. 
"  An'  so,  thinks  I,  I  '11  ask  pardon  o'  Master  Murr'll, 
and  prove  I  doan't  hev  any  mistrust  by  a-tellin' 
him  arl  the  business  to  the  bottom,  open  an'  'bove- 
board." 

Cunning  Murrell  was  all  alert,  but  his  vanity  was 
M 


178  CUNNING  MURRELL 

indulged,  nevertheless,  by  these  respectful  amends, 
and  he  so  far  relaxed  as  to  nod  complacently. 

Old  Sim  Cloyse  was  commonly  a  man  of  few 
words,  and  he  felt  that  his  resources  in  that 
respect  were  nearing  exhaustion.  So  he  went 
to  business. 

"  Yow  kim  to  me.  Master  Murr'll,  sir,"  he  said, 
"  on  the  part  of  a — a  Consulter :  name  yow  den't 
mention.  I,  likewise,  now  kim  to  you,  as  yow 
knowed  so  wonnerful  scientific  before  I  spoke,  as  a 
Consulter.  I  dunno  if  it  be  an  offence  to  a  genel- 
man  o'  your  larned  celebrity  to  ask  if  that  'ere 
first  Consulter  behaved  so  proper  as  to  offer  what 
might  be  called  compensation,  or  a  fee,  in  adwance? 
Beggin'  humble  pardon  if  it  be." 

"  No,"  Murrell  answered  frankly,  "  he  den't  pay  a 
farden." 

"  Ah,"  Cloyse  replied  with  the  tone'of  a  man  who 
plays  a  trump,  for  now  he  began  to  be  confident ; 
"  then  'tis  my  dooty  fust  to  prove  that  there  be  a 
difference  in  Consulters,  Master  Murr'll,  sir,  an' 
that  the  more  respeckful  an'  proper-minded  sort  o' 
Consulters  do  value  your  larned  knowledge  an' 
scientific  powers  as  they  ote  to  should.  There, 
Master  Murr'll,  sir,  be  a  fi'pound  note,  as  a  small 
compensation  in  adwance,  afore  I  say  anoather  word.' 


A  PRIVATE  DANCE  179 

Murrell  bent  his  head  graciously  in  acceptance  ; 
but  he  was  mindful  of  his  dignity,  and  let  the  note 
lie  on  the  table. 

"Well,  Master  Murr'll,  sir,"  Cloyse  went  on, 
after  a  pause,  rubbing  his  forehead,  but  this  time 
being  careful  to  employ  his  left  hand  ;  "  so  much 
done,  I  count  we  stand  that  one  Ccnsulter  as  kims 
to  you  'bout  his  bit  o'  business,  an'  pays  nothen,  is 
done  with.  The  oather  Consulter  kims  about  his 
bit  o'  business,  an'  pays  in  adwance,  an'  ready 
to  pay  agen,  as  is  proper  an'  fair.  To  say  nothen 
o'  the  rediklus  little  as  is  give  by  the  officers  for 
information,  an'  the  harm  as  sich  would  do  in  the 
neighbourhood  to  any  respected  public  genelman. 
.  .  .  Well,  sir,  fust,  where  be  Golden  Adams  ?  " 

"  No,  Master  Cloyse  ;  since  yow've  come  to  make 
me  offers  so  han'some  an'  Yxh'xdX.ftist  I  ask  of  your 
health.     How 's  your  arm  ?  " 

"  My  arm,  Master  Murr'll,  sir?" 

"Ay — your  right  arm,  up  there.  Yow  han't  no 
outside  bandages  nor  nothen  to  show,  'tis  true  ;  but 
yow  den't  think  I  could  fail  to  know  'bout  it  did 
yow  ?  " 

Cloyse  passed  his  left  hand  gently  over  the  place, 
and  stared.  "  Why,"  he  said,  "  I  den't  think  he 
knowed  he  hit  me  at  arl,  let  alone  where." 


i8o  CUNNING  MURRELL 

"Right.     He  den't  know.     An'  he  dunno  yet." 

Cloyse  transferred  the  rubbing  to  the  back  of  his 
head.     Then  he  asked  slyly  :  "  Who  ?  " 

"I  might  answer,  'him  that  fired  the  pistols.' 
But  you  hev  paid  a  han'some  fee,  an'  must  hev  arl 
I  can  give  for  it.     I  mean  Golden  Adams." 

*'  Ah,"  said  Cloyse,  "  I  guessed  as  much."  Plainly 
he  had  played  the  right  game,  and  Murrell  was 
bought  wholly.     "  An'  where  be  he  now  ?  " 

"  The  sarten  and  exact  sput  at  this  moment  o' 
time,"  Murrell  answered  deliberately,  "  I  might 
discover  by  exercise  of  the  curis  an'  lawful  arts  I 
hev,  though  it  would  take  a  little  time ;  an'  by  then 
he  might  ha'  moved  a  yard  or  two.  But  I  take  it 
yow  doan't  wish  to  employ  my  secret  arts,  but  to 
know  what  I  know  now,  in  the  common  human 
way,  o'  where  Golden  Adams  be  ?  " 

"  Ay,"  Cloyse  replied,  and  nodded  energetically. 

"  At  this  moment,"  Murrell  answered,  with  a 
quick  twist  of  his  head  toward  the  wooden  clock, 
"  as  near  as  I  can  judge  it,  Golden  Adams  be  about 
hafe  a  mile  off.  That  bein'  to  say  on  Castle  Hill, 
watchin',  with  two  large  pistols  an'  a  cudgel." 

"  An'  do  he  go  every  night  ?  " 

"  Ay,  every  night ;  an'  keeps  pretty  nigh,  too, 
every  day." 


A  PRIVATE  DANCE  i8i 

"  An'  what  do  he  say  he  '11  do  ?  " 

"  Says  he'll  stand  over  the  property  till  he  drops 
dead,  or  has  his  dues." 

Old  Sim  Cloyse  shut  his  jaws  wdth  a  snap,  and 
the  veins  thickened  on  his  forehead.  "Master 
Murr'll,  he  shan't  hev  a  farden !  A  murderin' 
gallows  villain  !  He  shan't  hev  a  farden,  Master 
Murr'll ;  we  '11  give  him  his  dues  !  " 

"  I  'm  willin'  to  do  my  part  thereunto,"  Murrell 
responded  ;  but  his  gaze  on  old  Sim  Cloyse  was 
none  the  less  keen.  "  What  might  you  think  o' 
doin'?" 

"Master  Murr'll,  we  can  afford  to  wait,  an'  he 
can't.     Hev  he  got  any  money  ?  " 

"  None  at  arl ;  not  to  say  money.  A  few  shilluns, 
mayhap." 

"  Then  he  can't  get  the  property  away.  Now, 
Master  Murr'll,  sir,  I  hev  gladly  paid  yow  five 
pound  for  adwice  an'  information,  an'  I  will  be  open 
with  yow  as  yow  with  me.  I  must  get  that  pro- 
perty away;  but  stands  to  reason  I  can't  while  that 
deadly  rapscallion  stands  agin  it  with  hoss-pistols 
and  cudgels,  desprit  rip  as  he  be.  One  man  like 
that  can  keep  off  fifty,  to  say  nothen  o'  the  noise  o' 
shootin'  bein'  heard.  Now,  Master  Murr'll,  I  'm 
ready  to  pay  agen,  an'   pay  more,  to  get  Golden 


i82  CUNNING  MURRELL 

Adams  off  Castle  Hill.  Yow  can  easy  find  a  way 
o'  persuading'  him  off,  an'  then  let  me  know  when 
arl  's  clear.     Will  yow  do  that  ?  " 

Murrell  put  his  head  aside  sagaciously.  '"Tis 
no  doubt,"  he  said,  "  I  can  find  ways  o'  gettin'  him 
off  Castle  Hill,  an'  leavin'  your  lawful  property  for 
yow  to  take."  He  paused  and  smiled  shrewdly. 
"  Master  Cloyse  !  "  he  went  on,  "  come,  I  '11  be  open 
about  myself  as  well  as  about  Golden  Adams.  I 
were  in  Leigh  but  an  hour  or  two  back." 

"  Yes  ?  " 

"  To  see  yow." 

"  'Bout  this  ?  " 

"  About  this.  I  thought  to  hint  yow  might  clear 
Golden  Adams  from  Castle  Hill  and  get  your  pro- 
perty by — well,  by  makin'  an  arrangement  with 
me.  But  it  were  brote  to  me  that  yow  were  seen 
to  go  out ;  an'  I  came  on  in  the  shrimp-cart.  .  .  . 
Well,  yow  be  ready  to  make  sich  an  arrangement. 
Name  your  offer.' 

Old  Sim  Cloyse  looked  hard  at  Murrell.  "  Master 
Murr'll,  sir,  get  that  man  out  o'  the  way,  an'  when 
I  've  got  the  stuff  I  '11  pay  yow — twenty  pound.' 

Cunning  Murrell  rubbed  his  chin.  "That  be 
very  handsome,  Master  Cloyse,  very  handsome, 
sarten   to  say,"  he  said,  blandly.      "  The  bargain 


A  PRIVATE  DANCE  183 

be  that  I  get  Golden  Adams  away  from  Castle 
Hill,  one  night,  or  arltogither,  an'  give  yow  notice, 
that  yow  may  move  your  property.  When  yow  've 
got  your  property,  an'  not  before,  yow  pay  me 
twenty  pound.     Very  good.    I  make  that  bargain." 

"  Good  indeed  then,  Master  Murr'll.  We  unner- 
stand  one  anoather."  Old  Sim  Cloyse  grinned 
and  winked,  and  slapped  his  knee.  '"Twill  be 
as  well,  'haps,  that  yow  den't  be  seen  comin'  to 
Leigh  to  see  me,  nor  I  here  to  see  yow,  till  the 
job's  settled.  An'  now,  how  d'  ye  think  yow  '11 
manage  it  ?  " 

"  That  I  shall  consider.  Master  Cloyse.  Mayhap 
one  way,  mayhap  anoather — pretty  sartenly  in  a  way 
yow  won't  be  expectin'.     But  leave  that  to  me." 

"  Master  Murr'll,  sir,  I  hev  showed  my  respeck 
for  your  larnin'  an'  my  trust  in  your  wisdom  that 
be  so  scientific.  I  will  leave  it  to  yow — arl.  We 
unnerstand  one  anoather,  Master  Murr'll,  an'  arter 
what's  passed  there  be  no  need  for  me  to  bespeak 
yow  to  keep  it  close." 

"  No  need  at  arl.  Master  Cloyse."  Murrell 
pushed  back  his  chair.  "  No  need  at  arl.  Secrecy 
I  must  keep,  both  for  your  sake  an'  mine.  An' 
when  I  send  yow  a  message,  or  what  not,  that 
yow    may    find    your   property    at    your    disposal. 


i84  CUNNING  MURRELL 

'twill  be  in  sich  terms  as  we  hev  spoke  this 
evenin'.  Property  we  carl  it,  without  bein'  more 
partic'lar." 

Cloyse  rose,  but  stood  and  scratched  behind 
his  ear,  as  though  some  lingering  doubt  remained. 
Then  he  bent  toward  Murrell  and  said  :  "  Hev  he 
told  anybody  else  ?  " 

"  Not  a  soul  but  me," 

Cloyse  nodded,  thought  and  scratched  a  little 
more,  and  asked  :  "  There  be  no  chance,  be  there, 
Master  Murr'll,  that  he  get  movin'  it  unbeknown 
to  yow  ? " 

"Master  Cloyse,  I  assure  yow  there  be  none. 
Not  a — well,  not  a  piece  o'  that  property  can  be 
moved  unbeknown  to  me.  'Tis  arl  at  my  fingers' 
ends.  The  fee  yow  offer.  Master  Cloyse,  the  very 
handsome  fee  yow  offer,  be  greater  by  far,  I  con- 
fess, than  any  I  hev  ever  taken.  If  in  any  way 
I  fail  yow,  I  shall  lose  it,  that 's  arl.  But  I  will 
go  so  far  as  to  promise  yow  shall  have  your 
property,  every — every  bit  of  it." 

He  said  it  with  a  confident  assurance  that  was 
very  welcome  to  old  Sim  Cloyse ;  who  groped 
for  his  hat,  found  it,  and  presently  was  gone,  after 
Murrell  had  first  cautiously  peered  forth  and  found 
nobody  near. 


A  PRIVATE  DANCE  185 

Cunning  Murrell  shut  the  door  quietly.  He 
turned,  looked  round  the  herb-hung  walls,  and 
burst  into  a  wide  grin — such  a  grin  as  nobody,  not 
even  Ann  Pett,  was  ever  allowed  to  see  on  his  face. 
Then  he  raised  his  hands  over  his  shoulders,  letting 
the  fingers  hang  near  his  ears,  and  slowly  danced 
on  tiptoe  round  the  table ;  and  the  dance  was  as 
silent  as  the  grin. 

Now  if  Cunning  Murrell  had  had  a  favourite 
son  whom  he  was  bringing  up  in  the  practice  of 
his  own  trade,  he  might  have  seized  this  oppor- 
tunity to  call  him  in  and  impress  on  him  certain 
maxims  which,  though  never  precisely  formulated, 
had  always  governed  himself.     As  for  instance : — 

"  Be  upright  in  all  things.  If  there  be  a  con- 
tention, and  one  of  the  parties  come  to  you,  know- 
ing you  to  have  been  already  retained  on  the 
other  side,  whatever  error  you  may  induce  him 
to  commit,  whatever  loss  of  money  he  may  incur, 
and  whatever  information  you  may  pump  out  of 
him,  will  be  the  result  of  his  own  fault." 

"  Shame  the  devil  by  telling  the  literal  truth. 
If  any  man  be  deceived  by  the  literal  truth,,  he 
must  be  a  fool,  and  deserves  to  suffer." 

For  indeed  the  long  use  of  spells  and  conjura- 
tions  had   bred   in   him   a  vast  regard    for   words 


i86  CUNNING  MURRELL 

merely,  since  they  were  manifestly  so  potent  an 
influence.  Others  have  reached  the  same  persua- 
sion by  a  different  road.  So  that  to  Murrell,  as 
sometimes  to  greater  men,  a  word,  or  a  phrase, 
or  a  sentence,  which  accorded  precisely  with  his 
inmost  mind,  and  at  the  same  time  was  apt  in 
particular  circumstances  to  carry  a  wholly  different 
meaning  to  the  minds  of  others,  was  a  valuable 
instrument  of  trade. 

He  had,  in  fact,  expected  just  such  a  visit  from 
Cloyse  as  he  had  received,  for  he  had  at  least  as 
clear  and  as  quick  a  view  of  the  position  and 
chances  of  things  as  Cloyse  himself.  But  finding 
that  the  visit  did  not  come  instant  on  the  repulse 
by  pistol-fire  from  Castle  Hill,  whereof  he  had 
learned  from  Golden  Adams,  he  began  to  suppose 
that  either  Cloyse  had  been  badly  wounded,  or 
was  about  to  carry  the  business  in  some  unknown 
way;  and  being,  by  reason  of  the  poverty  of  the 
moment,  near  as  impatient  as  Adams  himself,  he 
resolved  to  learn  what  he  might  at  Leigh  of 
Cloyse's  health,  and  perchance  see  him  and  renew, 
in  the  light  of  fresh  circumstances,  the  offers  he 
had  carried  before.  He  had  reached  Leigh  Strand 
in  time  to  see  Cloyse's  departure  from  his  house, 
and  to  observe  the  direction  he  had  taken ;  and 


A  PRIVATE  DANCE  187 

then  was  able  to  take  advantage  of  the  shrimp- 
cart  to  reach  Hadleigh  first. 

But  all  these  matters,  with  the  unformulated 
maxims,  were  hidden  in  the  cunning  man's  head  ; 
for  he  had  never  had  any  favourite  child,  and  of 
the  two  remaining  alive  the  son  was  at  that 
moment  fast  asleep  in  the  farmhouse  where  he 
worked,  three  miles  away,  and  had  never  been 
taught  as  much  as  to  read  ;  and  the  daughter, 
though  she  was  but  a  few  yards  off,  was  as 
illiterate  as  her  brother,  and  as  dull  of  mind.  So 
that  none  profited  by  Cunning  Murrell's  wisdom  ; 
and  he,  his  dance  danced  to  its  end  and  his  grin 
relaxed,  took  hat,  umbrella,  and  frail,  and  soon 
was  stealing  down  the  castle  lane,  toward  the  stile. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

A   DAY   AT   BANHAM'S 

THE  little  stars  were  gone,  and  of  the  great 
stars  but  one  or  two  remained  to  twinkle 
yet  a  space  in  the  west.  Paleness  had  spread 
high  in  the  sky,  and  away  on  the  very  edge  of 
the  waters,  beyond  where  the  Pan  Sand  and  the 
Girdler  lay  invisible,  a  flush  was  rising  and  spread- 
ing. The  broken  towers  of  Hadleigh  Castle  were 
haggard  in  the  grey  light,  and  Golden  x'\dams's  face 
seemed  scarce  less  haggard,  as  he  rose  from  the 
stones  whereon  he  had  been  sitting  and  dozing, 
stood  erect,  and  stretched  his  arms.  The  hill  and 
the  marshes  below,  the  water,  and  the  far  Kent 
shore,  all  were  ashy  grey  alike,  and  over  the 
marshes  wisps  and  rags  of  white  mist  changed 
and  turned  and  ran  together  like  ghosts  alarmed 
by  the  coming  day. 

The   flush    grew    and    deepened    at   the   water's 
edge,    and    then,    like    arrows    from    the    sun    in 

18S 


A  DAY  AT  BAN  HAM'S  189 

ambush,  two  long  rays  shot  high  above,  and 
another.  And  with  that  the  first  tinge  of  colour 
was  borne  into  the  greyness,  soft  and  vaporous, 
pink  and  blue,  faint  as  pearl.  More  rays  sprang, 
wider  now,  and  in  a  moment  a  blazing  segment 
stood  above  the  sea.  Light  ran  before  it,  leaving 
colour  in  its  track,  driving  the  ghosts  into  hiding 
behind  copses  and  in  the  hollows  of  hills,  and 
carrying  the  iridescence  far  to  west  and  south. 
And  at  that  the  nests,  restless  already  with  waken- 
ing twitters,  broke  into  full  song,  and  began  the 
eager  traffic  of  the  day.  Hill  and  marsh  were 
green  and  glistening,  daisies  peeped,  and  the  sun 
lifted  quick  and  great  from  the  sea,  and  flung  out 
its  gold  to  make  the  blue  water  merry. 

The  old  towers  took  the  warmer  tint  of  day,  and 
Golden  Adams's  hard  features  regained  their  natural 
brown,  no  whit  paled  by  his  nights  of  watching 
and  dozing.  He  took  the  fur  cap  from  his  head, 
beat  off  the  dew  against  his  palm,  and  shook 
more  dew  from  his  coat.  Then,  with  a  last  look 
round  land  and  water,  he  slowly  descended  to 
the  coppice,  there  to  lie  for  the  day,  and  to  sleep 
as  he  might. 

Up  in  the  meadows  work  was  toward,  and  the 
sound    of   the    stone    sweeping    the   scythe-blade. 


190  CUNNING  MURRELL 

The  life  of  Hadleigh  and  its  fields  went  its  even 
way  till  seven  o'clock.  Then  the  men  trooped  in 
to  breakfast,  and  the  cows  trooped  out  from  the 
morning  milking. 

Dorrily  Thorn  tended  her  aunt,  worked  in  the 
garden,  and  after  breakfast  returned  from  the  post- 
office  happy  in  possession  of  a  letter  from  Jack. 
Young  Sim  Cloyse  straggled  in  from  Leigh,  in- 
definite of  aim,  but  vaguely  hoping  that  Dorrily 
Thorn  might  be  in  a  less  curt  mood,  and  not 
altogether  deaf  to  persuasion  in  the  matter  of 
Prittlewell  Fair.  Lingood's  forge  clanged  and 
glowed;  and  Cunning  Murrell  slept  till  he  was 
called  to  doctor  Banham's  horse. 

At  Banham's  things  were  at  sixes  and  sevens. 
Not  that  that  was  not  the  normal  state  of  Ban- 
ham's ;  but  to-day  things  went  wrong  with  a  more 
than  commonly  persistent  perversity.  It  was  a 
suitable  place  for  muddle  and  trouble,  for  Banham, 
like  everybody  hereabout,  no  matter  what  his 
regular  trade,  did  his  small  bit  of  farming  with  an 
acre  or  so,  a  cow,  and  a  few  pigs,  leaving  it  much  to 
the  mismanagement  of  his  wife.  If  Mrs.  Banham 
had  had  no  more  than  her  household  duties  to 
disorganise  she  would  have  done  it  very  thoroughly, 
and    would    never    have   let    a    day   slip    without 


A  DAY  AT  BANHAM'S  191 

broken  crockery,  spoiled  meals,  infantile  avalanches 
on  the  stairs,  tumblings  into  tubs,  torn,  scorched, 
and  lost  linen,  and  other  such  domestic  entangle- 
ments. But  all  was  chaos  since  those  duties  were 
complicated  with  attendance  on  a  small  farmyard : 
one  set  about  with  tottering  sheds,  whereof  while 
the  roof  fell  in  the  doors  fell  out ;  so  that  the 
Banham  poultry  and  pigs  pervaded  the  village 
as  widely  as  the  Banham  offspring,  and  some  of 
the  latter  were  in  perpetual  quest  and  pursuit  of 
some  of  the  former. 

But  this  day  was  worse  than  all.  It  was  one 
of  Banham's  late-starting  mornings,  and  Bobby, 
Jimmy,  and  the  rest  had  all  fallen  downstairs  and 
been  patched  and  mended  and  smacked,  and  had 
spilt  their  teacups  and  been  smacked  again,  and 
Mrs.  Banham  had  industriously  spread  the  be- 
ginnings of  the  day's  disorder,  ere  Banham,  going 
with  young  Dick,  his  eldest  boy,  to  harness  the 
horse,  found  it  shivering  and  "winnicking"  and 
lifting  its  off  hind  leg,  whereon  was  a  nasty  cut, 
just  over  the  fetlock.  Banham,  stooping  to 
examine  the  cut,  found  both  hind  legs  sore  and 
bruised,  and  the  animal  very  tender  of  a  touch. 
Then  Dick  pointed  to  a  splintered  bucket  in  a 
far  corner,  and  a  little  staring   made  it  plain  to 


192  CUNNING  MURRELL 

father  and  son  that  everything  within  hoof-reach 
had  been  kicked  and  broken — a  thing  not  so  in- 
stantly noticeable  as  it  might  have  been,  by  reason 
of  most  things  in  the  Banham  establishment  being 
broken  already.  And  when  the  horse  was  un- 
haltered  there  was  a  sad  large  swelling  just  under 
the  right  eye,  tenderer  than  all  the  bruises,  and 
wholly  closing  the  lids. 

Poor  Banham  gaped  and  stared  in  dismay.  A 
small  bruise  or  a  cut  or  two  he  would  have  treated 
well  enough  himself,  but  all  this — and  especially 
the  mysterious  swelling  at  the  eye — must  be  seen 
to  by  Cunning  Murrell.  So  Dick  was  sent  for 
him  with  all  speed. 

Murrell  found  the  whole  family  about  the  stable, 
which  was  a  longish  shed,  made  to  accommodate 
the  horse  at  one  end  and  the  cow  at  the  other, 
with  a  cart  between.  Mrs.  Banham's  firm  opinion 
was  that  the  horse  had  been  bewitched,  and  Mag 
Banham  inclined  to  the  same  belief.  Em  chuckled 
and  wept  and  winked  that  horrid  wink  that  had 
returned  to  her  of  late. 

Cunning  Murrell  went  over  the  horse  with 
practised  fingers,  and  in  response  to  Mrs.  Ban- 
ham's  repeated  suggestions  of  witchcraft  was  dis- 
posed to  agree  with  her.     How  had  the  cow  been  ? 


A  DAY  AT  BANHAM'S  193 

Instantly  it  was  remembered  that  all  sorts  of 
things  had  been  amiss  with  the  cow.  She  had 
been  cross-grained  yesterday,  and  reluctant  to 
yield  her  milk ;  she  had  kicked  over  the  pail  on 
Tuesday — or  was  it  Saturday?  She  was  hot  and 
feverish  and  fretful — which,  of  course,  could  not 
be  due  to  the  warm  weather  and  nightly  confine- 
ment in  a  shed.  But  more  than  all,  Mag  Banham 
had  been  at  the  churn  all  yesterday  afternoon  and 
part  of  the  evening,  and  failed  to  make  a  single 
speck  of  butter. 

Murrell  nodded  gravely,  looked  at  the  cow,  and 
shook  his  head.  No  doubt  it  was  a  "sending"; 
an  imp  had  tormented  the  horse,  and  probably 
had  begun  by  biting  it  under  the  eye,  driving  it 
mad  with  terror,  and  causing  all  the  trouble. 

At  this,  young  Dick,  with  a  scandalous  irre- 
levance, a  youthful  presumption  and  an  impudent 
levity  that  shocked  everybody,  ventured  to  attri- 
bute the  swelling  to  a  possible  wasp  or  hornet, 
lying  "dummel"  in  the  hay ;  even  pretending  that 
he  had  heard  of  such  a  case  somewhere  else.  But 
his  effrontery  met  its  punishment,  and  he  sidled 
off  abashed  and  discomfited  by  the  wise  man's 
condign  rebuke.  And,  indeed,  as  any  one  might 
know,  even  if  the  thing  were  a  wasp  or  a  hornet, 
N 


194  CUNNING  MURRELL 

there  was  no  more  common  form  for  any  witch's 
imp  to  assume  than  that,  except,  perhaps,  a 
spider. 

So  for  the  present  Cunning  Murrell  washed  and 
bound  the  cut,  and  made  plasters  of  steeped  herbs 
for  the  bruises  and  the  eye ;  promising  to  call 
again,  and  in  the  meantime  not  only  to  send  a 
drench  for  the  cow,  but  to  consider  the  matter  of 
any  amulet  or  conjuration  that  might  seem  need- 
ful in  case  the  cures  were  delayed.  But  indeed, 
Murrell's  fame  as  a  cattle-doctor  was  merited, 
and  Banham's  horse  was  soon  comforted  by  the 
plasters. 

But  Murrell  was  no  sooner  gone  than  more 
disasters  of  the  night  were  revealed  ;  for  in  another 
shed  the  old  sow  was  found  routing  among  the 
whole  remaining  store  of  mangels,  which  lay 
scattered  about  her,  each  with  a  large  gnaw  in  its 
side ;  for  merely  to  eat  a  few  mangels  and  have 
done  with  the  mischief  was  not  in  that  sow's 
nature ;  she  must  take  a  bit  out  of  every  one,  and 
so  do  as  much  ruin  as  possible. 

Banham  was  a  mild  man  in  general,  but  now  he 
snatched  a  hoe,  and  so  plied  the  handle  that  the 
old  sow  went  at  a  bolt,  and  overset  a  large  part  of 
the  family  on  the  mixen.     And  when  the  damage 


A  DAY   AT  BANHAM'S  195 

was  seen  and  lamented  it  grew  plain  to  Mrs. 
Banham  that  here  was  proof,  if  more  were  needed, 
of  the  unholy  source  of  all  the  other  troubles  ;  for 
it  was  remembered  that  this  same  sow  had  twice 
eaten  her  own  pigs,  and  once  had  gobbled  up  a 
whole  brood  of  chicks.  It  was  perceived  on 
examination  that  some  time  in  the  night,  insti- 
gated by  the  devil,  the  brute  had  capsized  the 
trough  against  the  gate  of  the  run  ;  the  hinges,  cut 
from  the  uppers  of  an  aged  boot,  had  fetched  away 
and  let  the  gate — itself  a  medley  of  rotten  boards 
and  barrel  staves — fall  flat,  so  that  the  whole  yard 
was  open  to  the  offender.  How  she  got  into  the 
shed  where  the  mangels  lay  was  not  so  clear, 
though  it  was  certainly  by  infernal  aid  of  some 
sort,  since  nobody  would  admit  having  left  the 
door  open. 

Here  was  a  pretty  state  of  things  to  begin  the 
day  with  ;  and  as  the  day  went,  so  things  went 
more  awry,  Banham  had  to  stay  at  home,  of 
course ;  and  although  it  might  seem  that  so 
unassuming  an  addition  to  the  family  numbers 
would  make  little  difference,  nevertheless  his  wife 
protested  that  he  hindered  everything,  and  brought 
about  a  most  distracting  state  of  muddle  :  which 
he  himself  never  ventured  to  doubt.     Mag  laboured 


196  CUNNING  MURRELL 

again  at  the  churn,  for  nothing ;  and  Mrs.  Banham 
took  a  clamorous  turn  herself,  with  as  little  result. 
But  to  tell  half  the  tale  of  that  day's  failures  and 
troubles,  and  spillings,  and  breakings,  and  squab- 
blings,  and  lamentations,  would  be  too  much.  Let 
it  suffice  to  say  that  in  the  afternoon  the  biggest 
dish  fell  from  the  topmost  shelf  of  the  dresser  on 
a  pile  of  unwashed  crockery  beneath,  and  Jimmy 
was  convicted  of  ringworm. 

Now  for  some  time  it  had  been  observed  with 
alarm  that  Em  was  "  going  comical "  again  ;  and 
when  the  big  dish  fell  with  a  great  crash,  she  flung 
back  in  her  seat  and  laughed  and  laughed,  and 
would  not  stop.  And  presently  the  laughs  turned 
to  shrieks,  and  her  legs  stuck  out  stiff  before  her, 
and  she  slid  off  the  chair  on  her  back ;  her  arms 
jerked  like  a  string-jack's,  the  shrieks  wore  away 
hoarsely,  and  when  Mag  and  her  mother  went  to 
lift  her  she  bit  at  them  like  a  dog. 

If  it  were  possible  to  suppose  a  doubt  that  all 
their  troubles  were  caused  by  witchcraft  this  would 
have  removed  it.  It  was  plain,  as  soon  as  there 
was  time  for  consideration,  that  here  must  be  the 
work  of  a  confederation  of  witches  ;  unless,  indeed, 
Cunning  Murrell's  burst  bottle  had  been  ineffectual 
against  Mrs.  Martin — which  it  most  manifestly  had 


A  DAY  AT  BANHAM'S  197 

not  been.  It  was  long  known  that  there  were,  and 
always  would  be,  three  witches  in  Hadleigh,  for 
Murrell  had  himself  proclaimed  it.  But  of  late 
years  their  identity  had  been  doubtful,  till  Mrs. 
Martin  had  been  proved  to  be  one  of  them.  Now, 
her  own  power  over  the  Banhams  having  been 
weakened  by  Murrell's  triumphant  operation,  she  had 
doubtless  called  in  the  aid  of  others,her  niece,Dorrily 
Thorn,  being  one  of  them  without  a  doubt.  For 
was  she  not  actually  seen  with  her  aunt,  conspicuous 
in  the  forefront  of  a  satanic  orgy  at  night  on  Castle 
Hill,  by  Jarge  Crick,  as  honest  a  man  as  any  in 
these  parts  ?  And  Mag  was  even  more  positive,  for 
she  had  spent  the  night  awake  and  weeping  because 
this  same  Dorrily  Thorn  had  put  a  spell  on  young 
Sim  Cloyse,  drawing  him  away,  changing  his 
temper  and  feelings,  and  attracting  him  to  herself: 
a  thing  that  nothing  but  witchcraft  could  explain. 
She  had  seen  the  thing  with  her  own  eyes,  looking 
down  the  hill  ;  and  it  was  doubly  cruel,  too,  for  had 
not  Dorrily  Thorn  her  cousin.  Jack  Martin?  And 
at  the  thought  poor  Mag  grew  as  bitter  as  her 
mother — perhaps  bitterer. 

Here  was  fine  matter  for  the  gossips,  and  great 
work  for  Cunning  Murrell  :  nothing  less  than  a 
combined  attack  of  witches  on  one  innocent  family, 


198  CUNNING  MURRELL 

afflicting  it  at  a  swoop  with  an  imp-tortured  horse, 
a  fiend-ridden  pig,  a  doubtful  cow,  and  a  bedevilled 
churn,  to  say  nothing  of  a  bushel  of  broken 
crockery,  and  wholly  disregarding  the  ringworm. 
But  chief  of  all,  here  was  Em  Banham  "took 
comical "  once  more,  and  worse  than  ever ;  biting 
and  snapping  at  her  mother's  hands,  and  even 
at  her  own. 

When  at  last  Mrs.  Banham  and  Mag  succeeded 
in  finding  Cunning  Murrell  it  was  in  evening  dark, 
and  he  was  coming  up  Castle  Lane  with  the  accus- 
tomed umbrella  over  his  shoulder,  but  with  a  far 
bigger  frail  than  common  hanging  from  its  handle  ; 
a  full  and  bulging  frail,  too,  full  of  something  that 
seemed  heavy.  And  he  was  angry  when  they 
rushed  upon  him,  and  bade  them  hold  their  tongues 
and  go  ;  though  he  promised  to  come  to  them 
presently,  and  kept  his  promise. 


CHAPTER    XVII 

THE   CALL   OF   TIME 

ROBOSHOBERY  DOVE  had  finished  his 
breakfast,  smoked  a  pipe,  and  looked  round 
his  garden.  He  had  been  hoeing  before  the  meal, 
and  now  nothing  remained  to  do.  Every  upturned 
flower-pot  on  a  stick  had  been  emptied  of  its 
entrapped  snails  and  replaced,  every  dying  leaf  had 
been  cut  away  and  buried,  and  not  a  growing  thing 
was  visible  that  had  not  a  comforting  hoeing  of  moist 
earth  heaped  about  its  root.  Nothing,  dead  or 
alive,  was  out  of  its  place,  and  there  was  no  weed 
anywhere.  Roboshobery  Dove  stumped  along  the 
narrow  paths,  bright  with  broken  cockle-shell,  in  a 
clean  green  smock  and  a  varnished  hat  that  sent  a 
little  patch  of  reflected  light  dancing,  sometimes 
on  the  cottage  wall,  sometimes  among  the  thick 
leaves  of  his  best  plum  tree,  and  sometimes  into  the 
dazzled  eyes  of  a  chance  passenger  beyond  the 
fence.     There  was  nothing  left  to  do  in  the  garden 

199 


200  CUNNING  MURRELL 

— absolutely  nothing,  even  in  Roboshobery's  eyes, 
the  climbing  rose  that  went  up  beside  the  cottage 
door  and  spread  over  the  lintel  to  the  right  and 
over  a  window  to  the  left,  clung  close  and  went 
everywhere,  with  an  even  space  between  twigs  and 
branches,  like  the  veins  on  a  butterfly's  wing.  Even 
the  blossoms  had  fallen  into  an  orderly  habit,  and 
every  bud  seemed  to  spring  at  a  just  distance  from 
its  neighbour,  so  that  the  old  seaman  could  nowhere 
find  a  spot  where  another  nail  might  be  driven  with 
advantage,  nowhere  detect  a  superfluous  twig,  and 
nowhere  discover  a  mildewed  leaf.  Even  the 
unruly  clematis  on  the  side  wall  rose  with  rigid 
system  ere  it  broke  at  last  into  its  luxuriant  valance 
of  dark  leaf  and  purple  blossom.  For  a  moment 
Roboshobery  eyed  his  doorposts  and  his  front  gate, 
but  there  was  no  excuse  for  another  coat  of  paint 
in  any  part  of  their  perfect  whiteness ;  so  he 
pushed  the  gate  open  and  came  into  the  road. 

It  was  a  forward  year,  as  one  might  tell  by  the 
nearest  cornfield,  whose  colour  was  of  August  rather 
than  of  July.  The  scent  of  the  bean-fields  thinned 
and  grew  subtler,  though  potent  still  to  fuddle 
drunken  wasps  and  tumbling  butterflies  ;  and  all 
the  air  was  strong  with  the  breath  of  a  lusty 
summer.     Dove  went — sauntered,  as  well  as  a  man 


THE  CALL  OF  TIME  201 

with  a  wooden  leg  could — toward  the  four-wont 
way,  there  to  take  observation  north,  west,  east, 
and  south-west  along  the  cross  roads.  To  the  east 
Hadleigh  street  tailed  away  in  the  sunlight,  and 
gave  little  sign  of  life  beyond  the  merry  ring  of 
quick  blows  from  Lingood's  smithy ;  west  lay  the 
road  to  London  by  way  of  Bread-and-cheese  Hill, 
and  there  was  nothing  but  a  distant  farm  waggon 
creeping  up  from  Vange ;  north  was  the  road  to 
Rayleigh,  empty  to  sight  save  for  the  felled  log  on 
the  wayside  grass,  whereon  the  village  elders  sat 
for  evening  recreation  ;  so  that  Roboshobery  Dove 
turned  to  the  Bemfleet  road,  to  walk  just  so  far 
along  it  as  would  bring  him  to  the  nearest  view  of 
broad  water  and  the  traffic  of  Thames  mouth.  For 
to  him  this  view  was  something  like  the  reading 
of  a  newspaper;  not  a  speck  of  humanity  crawling 
and  skipping  on  the  green  marshes  far  below,  not 
a  boat  pulling  through  the  blue  water,  but  told 
some  tale  of  local  news  to  his  long-used  eyes  ;  and 
all  the  tidings  of  London  port  were  set  before  him, 
with  no  obscuring  medium  of  print. 

Where  the  road  swung  to  the  right  he  pushed 
aside  a  gate  and  entered  a  meadow.  At  the  gate 
the  Kent  hills  made  a  blue  horizon,  and  in  twenty 
yards  one  saw  the  Kent  shore  ;  twenty  yards  more, 


202  CUNNING  MURRELL 

and  many  square  miles  of  blue  water  lay  below, 
gay  with  sunlight ;  and  then  the  meadow  fell  away 
in  a  slope,  and  Canvey  Island  and  the  marshes  lay 
green  and  flat  below,  like  a  great  map. 

Tide  was  low,  and  at  the  causeway  from  Bemfleet 
to  the  island  an  uncommon  black  patch  was 
moving.  It  lengthened  out  in  the  wetter  parts,  and 
showed  itself  to  be  a  crowd  of  men.  The  foremost 
were  scarce  high  and  dry  on  the  island  ere  Dove, 
as  much  by  induction  as  by  his  keen  eyesight, 
perceived  the  purpose  of  the  gathering. 

"  'Tis  a  prize-fight !  "  he  said.  "  From  Lunnon  !  " 
And  instantly  scrambled  back  at  his  best  pace  for 
the  gate. 

It  was  two  miles  to  the  causeway  by  the  road, 
and  there  was  no  time  to  waste,  or  he  would  lose 
much  of  the  fight  ere  he  could  come  up  with  it.  It 
might  even  be  over  if  they  were  quick  and  it  were 
a  bad  match.  On  the  other  hand  it  were  a  mean 
thing  to  rush  off  alone  and  tell  none  of  his  friends. 
Distracted  between  his  two  minds,  he  clapped 
hand  to  jaw  and  roared  "Prentice  ahoy!"  in  the 
direction  in  which  Prentice's  kitchen  chimney  was 
just  visible,  away  in  the  village.  The  shout  might 
have  been  heard  at  Beggar's  Bush,  but  there  came 
no    answer,    and    at    that    moment    Roboshobery 


THE  CALL  OF  TIME  203 

perceived  a  boy  grubbing  for  dandelion  roots  under 
the  hedge.  "  Here,  younker  !  "  he  called,  "  run  an' 
tell  Master  Prentice,  an'  Master  Lingood,  an' 
Master  Fisk,  an' — an'  anybody  else  yow  see, 
there 's  a  Lunnon  prize-fight  down  to  Canvey ! " 
And  instantly  hurried  off  down  the  Bemfleet 
road. 

Now  Roboshobery  Dove's  enthusiasm  had  caused 
him  to  forget  the  penny  that  would  have  sent  the 
boy  back  on  the  errand  without  hesitation.  As  for 
the  boy,  he  reflected  that  while  he  was  carrying  the 
news  about  the  village  he  would  be  losing  a  deal  of 
the  fight  himself;  and  a  careful  balancing  of  the 
advantage  and  consideration  of  being  the  bearer  of 
important  news  before  the  event,  against  that  of 
bringing  home  the  tale  of  a  prize-fight  that  nobody 
else  had  seen,  led  in  a  very  few  seconds  to  his 
stuffing  into  the  hedge  the  old  table-knife  he  was 
using,  and  hastening  through  the  gate  into  the 
meadow  ;  to  gain  Canvey  Island  by  a  direct  route 
down  hill-faces  and  over  wet  marsh,  easy  and  quick 
enough  for  a  boy,  but  not  to  be  contemplated  by 
anybody  with  a  wooden  leg.  So  that  nobody  from 
Hadleigh  saw  the  fight  but  Roboshobery  Dove  and 
his  truant  messenger. 

As  for  Dove,  he  stumped  along  with  steady  haste 


204  CUNNING  MURRELL 

down  the  lane  to  Bemfleet.  This  was  not  the  first 
fight,  by  many,  that  had  come  off  on  Canvey  Island, 
and  now  that  the  railway  was  brought  down  almost 
to  Bemfleet,  the  island  was  grown  an  uncommonly 
convenient  spot. 

The  lane  wound,  ever  descending,  under  the 
shade  of  tall  trees,  sometimes  deep  between  banks, 
sometimes  on  the  open  hillside.  At  the  first  clear 
drop  on  the  left,  where  water  and  marsh  came  in 
view  again,  Dove  could  see  the  crowd  making 
briskly  for  the  middle  of  the  island,  men  carrying 
the  ropes  and  stakes  not  far  from  the  leaders ; 
and  then  a  little  wood  sprang  on  the  hillside,  and 
shut  all  out. 

Presently,  on  the  right,  the  hill  fell  away  wholly, 
and  left  the  road,  descending  still,  to  top  its  last 
ridge  ;  throwing  wide  a  great  picture  where  Essex 
lay  broad  and  fecund  below,  dotted  with  a  score  of 
hamlets,  richly  embushed  with  trees,  motley  with 
fields  of  many  colours,  and  seamed  with  hedges. 
But  Roboshobery's  face  was  turned  the  other  way, 
over  the  water  and  the  island,  where  the  crowd  was 
a  less  conspicuous  mark  now  that  it  was  seen  from 
behind  rather  than  from  above.  It  was  plain, 
however,  that  the  battle-field  had  been  reached,  for 
a   white    spot    in    a    meadow   by    Kibcaps    Farm 


THE  CALL  OF  TIME  205 

presently  rose  to  a  point,  and  was  clearly  a  tent. 
Roboshobery  reflected  that  the  choice  of  ground 
was  a  good  one,  since  the  hay  had  lately  been  cut 
from  that  meadow,  and  the  turf  was  springing 
again,  fresh  and  short. 

The  road  took  a  steeper  pitch  and  a  turn  between 
high  banks  which  allowed  only  an  occasional  peep 
over  the  open,  waterwards  :  a  peep  that  now  in- 
cluded the  stout  square  tower  of  Bemfleet  Church, 
with  its  little  wooden  spire.  Dove  kept  his  pace 
at  a  steady  thump,  till  he  came  on  level  ground  at 
last  by  the  church  itself,  and  went  on  past  the  old 
carved  wooden  porch,  whose  posts  were  nailed 
thick  with  stoats  and  polecats  ;  still  with  his  eyes 
fixed  ahead. 

Nothing  was  visible  of  the  crowd  now,  for  all 
to  be  seen  of  Canvey  Island  was  the  low  line  of 
sea-wall  across  the  Ray;  though  stragglers  were 
still  crossing,  and  several  labourers  from  the  new 
railroad  were  in  view,  who  had  flung  down  pick 
and  shovel  and  were  now  making  their  best  pace 
for  the  causeway.  Dove  picked  his  way  with  care 
over  the  rotten  wood  and  wet  stones,  over  the  mud 
bank  alive  with  little  staggering  crabs,  and  so 
gained  the  low  road,  confined  by  sea-wall  on  each 
side.     There  was  still  a  mile  to  walk  to  the  fight, 


2o6  CUNNING  MURRELL 

though  the  way  was  level — the  island,  indeed,  was 
everywhere  flat  as  the  water  about  it. 

When  at  last  he  came  again  in  sight  of  the 
crowd  the  fight  was  going  merrily,  and  a  tide  of 
yells  rolled  back  and  forth  across  the  field.  Al- 
ready the  tent  was  demolished,  having  first  been 
abandoned  as  a  superfluous  luxury  once  the  men 
were  stripped,  and  since  having  collapsed  under  the 
weight  of  unreasoning  enthusiasts  who  in  their 
eflbrts  to  find  some  commanding  pitch  on  the  dead 
flat  of  the  meadow,  had  desperately  stormed  the 
canvas  and  clutched  the  pole  at  the  top.  But  its 
mere  presence  was  a  sign  that  this  was  an  im- 
portant fight,  furnished  with  uncommon  elabora- 
tion, for  Dove  could  not  remember  another  fight 
hereabout  to  the  use  whereof  a  tent  had  been 
brought.  And  steadily  under  the  broken  surge 
of  shouts  ran  the  unceasing  current  of  off"ered  bets. 

"  I  '11  back  the  little  'un  !  "  sang  out  Roboshobery 
Dove,  swinging  up  impetuously.  "  I  '11  back  the 
little  'un ! "  For  backing  the  little  one  was  a 
principle  of  his  chivalry,  which  he  was  ever  ready 
to  uphold  at  any  sacrifice,  and  which  he  now  pro- 
claimed, in  his  fervour,  without  staying  to  ascertain 
if  there  were  any  little  one  engaged. 

It  took  a   few  minutes'  steady  struggle  to  find 


THE  CALL  OF  TIME  207 

out.  It  might  at  first  be  supposed  that  a  man 
with  a  wooden  leg  would  contend  with  a  crowd 
at  a  serious  disadvantage  ;  but  the  point  of  that 
wooden  leg  with  the  most  of  fourteen  stone  weight 
above  it,  resting  upon  the  live  toes  of  a  neighbour, 
would  do  much  toward  dispelling  the  opinion  ; 
and  it  will  be  perceived  that  if  only  you  get  far 
enough  into  a  sufficiently  thick  crowd,  you  cannot 
be  knocked  down  ;  indeed,  in  a  crowd  with  any-' 
thing  of  pugilistic  tastes  and  education,  there 
would  be  something  more  than  reluctance  to  knock 
down  a  man  who  had  lost  a  leg.  So  that,  by  one 
advantage  and  another,  and  not  least  by  an  ener- 
getic use  of  the  stout  arms  still  remaining  to  him, 
Roboshobery  Dove  presently  found  himself  in  a 
position  to  see  the  fight  pretty  clearly. 

He  was  puzzled  to  guess  which  might  be  the 
little  one.  Near  the  centre  of  the  square  enclosed 
by  the  eight  stakes  and  the  two  ropes  the  two  men 
sparred,  matched  to  a  hair,  or  at  any  rate  seeming 
so  thus  early  in  the  encounter.  Plainly  they  had 
fought  just  long  enough  to  learn  a  little  of  each 
other's  reach  and  style,  and  each  had  learned 
enough  to  decide  him  that  nothing  was  to  be 
gained  by  recklessness  just  yet.  There  was  scarce 
a  stain  of  grass  on  their  white  breeches,  and  the 


2o8  CUNNING  MURRELL 

affable  grin  on  each  face  was  marred  by  nothing 
worse  than  a  smear  of  blood  and  a  highly  coloured 
eye.  As  for  the  men  themselves,  there  seemed  not 
a  pound  of  weight  to  choose  between  them,  and 
whether  each  was  nearer  twelve  or  eleven  stone 
it  would  have  been  hard  to  say.  A  yellow  silk 
handkerchief  hung  over  a  corner  post,  and  a  red 
one  with  white  spots  over  that  at  the  opposite 
angle ;  and  two  men  were  pushing  through  opposite 
parts  of  the  crowd,  one  with  a  bundle  of  yellow 
handerchiefs  and  the  other  with  a  bundle  of  red 
and  white.  But  customers  for  the  colours  were 
few  just  now,  and  the  pushing  and  shouting  and 
flourishing  went  for  little  profit. 

"  A  shade  of  odds  I  '11  take  !  "  cried  a  man  in 
a  white  hat.     "  A  shade  of  odds  on  either  man  !  " 

Instantly  half  a  dozen  turned  toward  him. 
"  What '11  you  take  on  the  Bricky  ?"  For  it  hap- 
pened that  the  Bricky  had  finished  the  last  round 
on  top. 

"  Three  to  one,"  answered  the  man  in  the  white 
hat,  who  was  out  on  business. 

"  Gr-r-r  !  A  shade  of  odds !  A  shade  !  Enough 
shade  to  sit  under  with  a  bloomin'  tea-party  !  " 
Plainly  most  of  the  crowd  were  Londoners. 

But    now   the    Bricky   was   taking   rather  than 


THE  CALL  OF  TIME  209 

giving,  having  "  napped  "  a  double  left,  in  conse- 
quence of  being  a  trifle  shorter  in  reach  than 
Paddington  Sharp,  his  opposite.  But  he  milled  in, 
and  soon  made  matters  seem  even  again.  Truly  it 
was  a  very  good  fight.  Good  men,  well  trained — 
their  skins  were  like  pink  ivory — fighting  their 
best,  and  losing  no  chance  by  haste  or  ill-temper. 
Roboshobery  cheered  both  impartially,  and  raked 
his  pocket  with  the  view  of  backing  his  fancy  as 
soon  as  he  had  decided  what  it  was. 

But  four  rounds  went,  and  still  he  could  not 
make  up  his  mind.  For  with  him  the  reasonable 
desire  to  back  the  probable  winner  was  tempered 
by  a  Quixotic  impulse,  regardless  of  shillings, 
to  back  the  resolute  hero  holding  on  against  the 
odds  of  ill-fortune.  This  fact  alone  was  apt  to 
breed  indecision  ;  but  here  the  chances  hung  now 
this  way  and  now  that,  with  so  regular  a  swing  that 
it  was  difficult  to  distinguish  which  man  should 
be  favoured  by  sympathy  and  which  by  commercial 
prudence. 

The  Bricky  was  picked  up  and  taken  to  his 
corner  with  his  grin  unspoiled,  though  one  ear  was 
thrice  the  size  of  the  other,  and  needed  a  touch  of 
the  penknife.  A  large  and  red-faced  man  in  a 
white  overcoat — the  weather  notwithstanding — who 
O 


210  CUNNING  MURRELL 

stood  just  before  Dove,  opened  a  newspaper  to 
seek  information  as  to  odds  on  a  race ;  and 
Roboshobery,  by  twisting  his  neck,  was  just  able 
to  read  a  headline :  "  Latest  News  of  the  War." 
But  he  had  scarce  deciphered  the  capitals  when 
the  red-faced  man  doubled  the  column  under,  the 
better  to  read  what  he  wanted. 

Time  was  called,  and  Paddington  Sharp  and 
the  Bricky  sprang  from  their  corners  and  went  to 
business  with  a  rattle.  Plainly  the  Bricky  had 
orders  to  mix  things  up,  and  he  hammered  in  with 
all  his  steam.  The  Paddington  champion  was 
no  way  loth,  and  the  knuckles  pelted  merrily  all 
round  the  ring.  The  red-faced  man,  with  a 
pecuniary  interest  in  the  Bricky,  waxed  clamorous, 
and  brandished  his  newspaper,  folded  into  a 
truncheon,  till  presently  it  knocked  off  a  neigh- 
bour's hat.  The  neighbour  said  something  hasty, 
and  the  red-faced  man  apologised,  and  let  the 
paper  drop. 

Roboshobery  Dove,  eager  for  news,  snatched  it 
as  it  fell,  and  asked  :  "  Den't  yow  want  to  keep  the 
newspaper,  sir  ?  " 

The  red-faced  man,  without  turning  his  head, 
bequeathed  the  newspaper  to  the  devil,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  encourage  the  Bricky  with  more  shouts. 


THE  CALL  OF  TIME  211 

Dove  saw  the  round  through,  and  made  up  his 
mind  that  the  Bricky  was  doing  best  ;  and  as  soon 
as  the  seconds  had  hold  of  their  men  he  un- 
folded the  paper  and  turned  the  war  news  upper- 
most. 

The  Black  Sea  news  headed  the  column,  and 
had  nothing  of  importance.  Nor  did  there  seem 
anything  very  interesting  at  first  under  the  head- 
ing "  The  Baltic  Fleet."  And  then  of  a  sudden, 
just  at  the  cry  of  "  Time,"  the  paper  went  grey 
and  blue  before  Roboshobery  Dove's  eyes,  and  the 
tumult  of  shouts  died  in  his  ears. 

He  turned  about  like  a  man  deadly  sick,  seeing 
and  hearing  nothing,  conscious  merely  of  stagger- 
ing and  buffeting  against  one  thing  after  another, 
till  he  was  away  from  the  crowd  and  out  on  the 
road  leading  to  the  causeway. 

He  took  his  way  by  instinct,  looking  straight 
ahead,  but  seeing  nothing.  He  was  vaguely  con- 
scious of  an  abatement  of  noise,  but  could  hear 
nothing  distinctly  yet  but  the  steady  thump  of  the 
wooden  leg  beneath  him,  which  now,  singularly 
enough,  obtruded  itself  on  his  senses  as  it  never 
did  commonly.  But  for  long  this  sound  and  a 
feeling  that  he  was  walking  in  a  road  in  daylight 
were    all    the    impressions    his    senses    gave    him. 


212  CUNNING  MURRELL 

For  he   had   read   this  paragraph  in   the  London 
paper : 

"  LUBECK,  Monday. — At  Baro  Sound  a  landing 
party  from  the  frigate  Phyllis  was  fired  on  by  a 
small  body  of  Russians,  who  decamped,  leaving 
one  dead  and  two  wounded  behind  them.  Our 
loss  was  John  Martin,  ordinary  seaman,  killed." 


CHAPTER    XVIII 


HEAVY  TIDINGS 


ROBOSHOBERY  DOVE  was  half  way  up 
the  long  hill  between  Bemfleet  and  Hadleigh 
ere  the  numbness  left  his  faculties,  and  his  first  new 
impression  was  one  of  physical  nausea.  He  was 
sick,  sick  in  the  stomach  at  each  jolt  of  the  wooden 
leg  as  he  strode  up-hill.  Then  he  remembered  the 
newspaper.  It  was  still  in  his  hand,  and  he  looked 
at  it  blankly,  without  knowing  why.  He  fell  to 
slapping  his  thigh  with  it  at  each  step,  and  trying 
hard  to  think. 

Canvey  Island  began  to  look  like  a  map  again, 
and  the  crowd  by  Kibcaps  Farm  lay  a  dark  patch 
with  a  little  square  hole  in  the  middle,  where 
Paddington  Sharp  and  the  Bricky  still  pummelled 
one  another  for  fifty  pounds  a  side.  But  Robosh- 
obery  Dove  saw  nothing  of  that.  He  had  himself 
fought  for  his  life,  he  had  seen  men  killed  at  his 
side  even  when  he  was  a  small  boy,  but  that  had 


214  CUNNING  MURRELL 

never  affected  him  like  this.  Why,  he  would  have 
found  it  hard  to  say.  For  then  he  had  seen  the 
real  thing,  heard  the  groans  and  the  babble  of 
dying  men,  and  felt  the  sticky,  slimy  blood  under 
his  bare  feet  on  the  deck  ;  and  now  he  merely  read 
four  lines  in  a  London  newspaper.  Howbeit  this 
was  worse  altogether. 

He  fell  to  wondering  whom  he  should  tell  first  ; 
what  Jack's  mother  would  say  or  do ;  what  the 
people  would  say  who  had  been  calling  her  a  witch. 
Perhaps  they  would  say  it  was  a  judgment.  But 
there — he  was  sick;  sick  as  a  cat;  and  he  shuddered. 

He  had  an  odd,  vague  feeling  of  responsibility. 
He  was  bringing  the  horrible  news ;  how  could  he 
face  the  boy's  mother  and  his  cousin  with  it  ? 
More,  how  could  he  ever  face  them  afterward  ? 
He  had  a  confused  feeling  that  he  was  somehow 
inflicting  the  blow  himself. 

So  he  took  his  way  up  the  long  hill,  and  at  last 
emerged  at  the  four-wont  way.  He  went  on  past 
his  own  garden  gate,  without  as  much  as  a  glance 
at  the  roses  over  his  door  or  a  look  at  the  starlings 
that  were  ravaging  his  cherry  tree.  He  hesitated 
for  a  moment  at  Prentice's  gate,  looked  up  the 
garden  path,  saw  Mrs.  Prentice  at  the  upper  window, 
and  then  went  on  to  Lingood's  forge. 


HEAVY  TIDINGS  215 

Steve  Lingood  had  that  morning  finished  an 
order  of  Murrell's — almost  a  wholesale  order.  For 
the  cunning  man,  finding  himself  in  funds,  had  not 
only  paid  what  he  owed,  but  had  bespoken  three 
more  bottles,  to  keep  for  sudden  occasions.  Murrell 
had  given  his  order  with  an  air,  maintaining  the 
advantage  and  authority  which  he  felt  that  his  re- 
jection of  Lingood's  overtures  had  given  him  over 
the  smith.  Perhaps,  also,  because  of  a  remote 
consciousness  that  as  yet  the  effect  had  been  a 
trifle  impaired  by  the  continuance  of  the  little  debt. 
Lingood,  on  his  part,  had  a  first  impulse  to  refuse 
the  work  ;  but  he  was  a  man  of  common  sense  as 
well  as  of  independence,  and  he  reflected  that  such 
a  refusal  would  irritate  Cunning  Murrell,  and  in 
that  way  do  Dorrily  Thorn  and  her  aunt  no  good 
— might  even  jeopardise  that  secret  of  his  own  that 
was  in  the  wise  man's  keeping.  Further,  that  trade 
was  trade,  and  the  smith  at  Bemfleet  or  Leigh 
would  make  the  bottles  if  he  did  not ;  and  more- 
over, that  another  smith  might  do  the  work  so 
thoroughly  as  to  cause  danger  to  life  at  the  next 
explosion  ;  whereas  he,  instructed  by  experience, 
might  take  private  means  to  render  that  contin- 
gency less  likely.     Which,  in  truth,  he  did. 

So  he  received  the  order  civilly,  and  now  the 


2i6  CUNNING  MURRELL 

three  bottles  lay,  wet  from  the  tank,  on  a  bench, 
while  he  and  the  boy  turned  their  attention  to 
a  plough  coulter. 

Roboshobery  Dove  stood  in  the  doorway,  and 
Lingood,  apprised  by  an  obstruction  of  light,  looked 
up.  The  old  seaman  stood  black  against  the  light, 
and  it  was  not  until  Lingood  came  to  the  door  that 
he  saw  that  his  face,  commonly  so  broad  and  so 
brown,  was  white  and  drawn. 

"  Why,"  said  the  smith,  "yow  fare  gastered  !" 

Roboshobery  Dove  moved  his  lips,  but  found 
them  dry  ;  so  he  offered  the  newspaper,  pointing 
to  the  paragraph  with  so  thick  and  withal  so  shaky 
a  forefinger  that  at  first  Lingood  was  puzzled  to 
guess  what  piece  of  news  had  troubled  him.  Then 
young  Jack  Martin's  name  came  in  view,  and  the 
smith  read. 

He  was  never  a  demonstrative  man,  but  now  he 
dropped  the  newspaper  and  stared  dully,  like  a 
sleep-walker.  He  paled,  too;  but  for  him  this  thing 
meant  more  than  Dove  knew,  and  he  put  his  hand 
over  eyes  and  forehead,  as  though  something  heavy 
had  struck  him  there  and  distracted  his  senses. 

"Larned  him  his  cutlass  drill  myself,"  said  Robo- 
shobery, at  last  finding  a  thick  utterance.  "  Larned 
him  it  when  he  were  so  high.     An'  I  fit  the  French 


HEAVY  TIDINGS  217 

myself  the  same  age ;  but  I  den't  feel  it  like 
this." 

Lingood  turned  into  the  forge.  For  a  few 
moments  he  said  nothing,  and  Dove  watched  him 
anxiously  as  he  stooped  and  moved  one  article 
and  another  this  way  and  that,  with  his  face  from 
the  light.  Then,  without  turning,  he  asked  in  a 
strained  voice  :  "  Do  they  know  ?  " 

"His  mother?" 

"Ay." 

"  No.  I  brote  the  paper  straight  from  Canvey, 
from  a  Lunnon  man  at  the  fight  there.  What 
shall 's  do?" 

Lingood  was  silent.  What  could  they  do  ? 
Plainly  Dorrily  and  her  aunt  must  learn  sooner 
or  later,  and  the  odds  were  that  on  Friday  or 
Saturday  there  would  be  a  newspaper  brought  in 
from  Chelmsford,  and  then  the  news  would  fly  over 
the  village  and  perhaps  fall  on  the  bereaved  women 
in  some  harsh  and  sudden  way.  Such  a  chance  as 
that  must  be  forestalled,  somehow.  But  now  his 
faculties  were  disordered,  and  he  could  not  con- 
sider clearly. 

"  Shall's  go  an'  ask  Harry  Prentice?"  suggested 
Dove. 

That  seemed  to  be  a  reasonable  notion.    Prentice 


2i8  CUNNING  MURRELL 

was  a  staid  old  fellow,  respected  in  the  village,  and 
not  so  closely  acquainted  with  young  Jack  Martin 
as  to  lose  his  head  at  the  news.  So  Lingood  reached 
his  coat  and  his  cap.  But  then  Dove  remembered 
Mrs.  Prentice,  and  it  was  resolved  to  send  the  boy 
to  ask  Prentice  to  come  and  speak  to  the  smith. 

Presently  Prentice  came,  mightily  astonished  at 
the  summons  ;  for  Hadleigh  was  not  one  of  those 
places  of  business  where  interviews  were  often  re- 
quested. People  said  what  they  wanted  to  say 
when  and  where  they  chanced  to  meet.  Prentice 
came  in  his  shirtsleeves,  with  no  hat. 

"Why,"  he  said,  "what's  up?  Hullo,  Bosh— 
yow  here  ?     What  is 't  arl  ?  " 

Dove  gave  him  the  newspaper  as  he  had  given 
it  to  Lingood. 

Prentice  took  it  to  the  light,  read  the  paragraph, 
and  looked  serious.  "  That  be  young  Jack  Mart'n," 
he  said,  "sarten  to  say." 

"  Ay,"  Dove  replied,  "  that  it  be.  An'  we  want  to 
know  what  about  tellin'  the  boy's  mother." 

"  O  !  Tellin'  his  mother  !  "  said  Prentice,  doubt- 
fully, thrusting  his  fingers  up  into  his  curly  white 
hair.     "  Tellin'  his  mother  !     Umph  !  " 

He  looked  from  one  to  the  other  and  then  at  the 
newspaper  again.     Then  he  put  the  newspaper  into 


HEAVY  TIDINGS  219 

the  other  hand,  and  seized  his  hair  on  the  opposite 
side.  "Tellin'  his  mother!"  he  repeated,  doubt- 
fully. He  paused  for  a  few  seconds,  and  at  last 
said  :  "  Well,  I  dunno  !  " 

"  We  fare  a  bit  dunted  like,"  Roboshobery  Dove 
explained.  "An'  I  thote  'haps  that  yow,  bein'  a 
knowledgeable  man,  an'  one  o'  good  gumption, 
might  take  it  in  hand  to  break  it  to  'em." 

Prentice's  mouth  opened,  and  his  face  lengthened. 
"Me?"  he  exclaimed.  "Me?  Lord,  no,  not  me! 
/  can  't  do 't !     'Twants  a  woman." 

The  others  thought  so  too,  though  the  fact  had 
not  struck  them  before.  Plainly  a  woman  would 
be  best ;  but  what  woman  ?  They  could  think  of 
no  woman  who  was  friendly  with  Mrs.  Martin : 
scarce  of  one  that  was  not  bitterly  unfriendly : 
certainly  of  none  that  was  not  afraid  of  her. 

"  'Tis  hard  to  know  what  to  do,"  said  Robosho- 
bery Dove.  "Summat  we  mtis'  do,  that's  plain. 
Somebody  else  may  bring  in  the  noos.  Prentice, 
oad  frien',  'twould  be  a  Christian  mussy  if  your 
missus  'ud  go  an'  tell  'em." 

Prentice  shuffled  uneasily.  In  his  own  mind  he 
had  secret  doubts  of  his  wife's  Christian  mercy 
toward  witches — indeed,  he  judged  her  far  too 
good  a  Christian  to  countenance  any  such  weak- 


220  CUNNING  MURRELL 

ness.  Nevertheless  he  could  not  refuse  to  ask  her. 
So  he  went  to  do  so. 

But  he  was  soon  back.  "  She  won't  go,"  he  said, 
with  a  glum  shake  of  the  head.  "  Says  'tis  a  judg- 
ment 'pen  'em  for  witchcraft,  an'  she  wonders  any 
honest  man  should  counsel  her  to  cross  a  witch's 
threshold  so 's  to  putt  her  in  her  power,  soul  an' 
body,  let  alone  the  mortal  danger  o'  bein'  bearer  o' 
ill  tidin's  to  sich.  'Twere  all  I  could  do  to  stop  her 
coming  an'  tellin'  of  ye  so,  herself." 

Dove  and  Lingood  stood  in  gloomy  doubt. 

"'Haps  Mrs.  Mart'n  knows  it  a'ready,"  Prentice 
suggested,  brightly,  as  offering  a  cheerful  way  out 
of  the  difficulty.  And  presently  added,  inconsist- 
ently, "  An'  lor,  them  newspapers  '11  say  anythink  !  " 

Neither  Dove  nor  Lingood  could  extract  much 
comfort  from  either  reflection.  The  smith  gazed 
at  his  smouldering  fire  for  a  few  moments,  thinking. 
Then  he  put  his  cap  on  his  head,  and  said  :  "  Come, 
Master  Dove,  we'll  talk  o'  this  walkin'." 

He  led  the  way  into  the  street,  and  Roboshobery 
Dove  followed.  Prentice  rubbed  his  white  curls 
again,  looked  blankly  after  the  two  for  a  few 
seconds,  and  then  went  slowly  back  home. 

Lingood  was  still  pale,  but  no  longer  in  doubt. 
"  We   mus'   do   it,"   he    said,  "an'   do   it   at   once. 


HEAVY  TIDINGS  221 

Prentice's  wife  knows  it,  an'  that's  within  ten 
minutes  o'  sayin'  that  arl  the  village  knows  it." 

"Ah,  that  is,"  Dove  assented  dolefully.  He 
turned  his  head,  and  then  added,  "Why,  damme, 
there  she  goes  a'ready,  with  a  hankercher  on  her 
head  !     No  time  lost  with  her  ! " 

"  Then  so  much  better  haste  mus'  we  make," 
Steve  Lingood  replied.  "There's  no  knowin' 
how't  may  come  to  them  if  it  comes  from  others. 
Like  as  not  Mrs.  Banham  may  get  hoad  o't,  an'  go 
an'  barl  it  at  the  door.  She  be  bitter  enough  for 
anything." 

"For  that?"  asked  Dove  as  he  mended  his  pace. 
"Bitter  enough  for  that?  Cuther !  what  a 
woman  ! " 

"  Ay,  bitter  enough  for  worse  now  young  Em's 
so  bad  again,  an'  one  thing  an'  another." 

Hadleigh  was  a  leisurely  place  for  wayfarers,  and 
women  stared  over  fences  to  see  Roboshobery 
Dove  and  Steve  Lingood  making  good  pace  along 
the  street,  plainly  with  business  in  prospect. 

Lingood  said  no  more,  and  Dove  was  plunged  in 
perplexity.  What  should  they  say  when  they  got 
there?  If  only  there  had  been  news  of  a  battle  to 
tell  of  first :  if  only  Jack  Martin  had  fallen  in  the 
hour  of  a  great  victory,  it  would  not  have  seemed 


222  CUNNING  MURRELL 

so  hard  a  job.  But  as  it  was — shot  dead  from 
behind  a  hedge  in  a  miserable  little  scrimmage  that 
would  be  forgotten  to-morrow — Roboshobery  saw 
no  way  to  the  work. 

They  turned  into  the  lane,  and  as  they  went 
Dove  began  to  lag,  though  the  younger  man  kept  on 
steadily.  Then  said  Dove,  looking  paler  than  ever  : 
"  Steve,  my  boy,  I  can't.    I  ben't  game.    I  'm  afeard." 

"Come,"  the  smith  answered,  impatiently,  "we 
mus'  do 't,  well  or  ill.  'Twill  come  better  from 
friends  than  from  foes,  an'  know  it  they  must  from 
some  one,  an'  soon.  I  '11  say 't  myself  if  need  be. 
But  come  an'  back  me,  at  least." 

Roboshobery  Dove  would  never  desert  a  friend 
who  appealed  for  support,  and  he  went  on  down 
the  hill.  But  he  had  never  before  experienced 
such  a  fit  of  fear — simple  terror  at  the  few  minutes 
before  him. 

They  reached  the  black  cottage  at  last,  and 
Lingood  went  up  the  steps  in  the  bank.  Dove 
following  with  an  unsteadiness  that  was  scarce  at 
all  due  to  the  wooden  leg. 

Visitors  were  rare  at  the  cottage  of  late,  and 
Dorrily,  hearing  the  footsteps,  came  to  the  door. 
She  had  just  composed  her  aunt  to  rest  in  a  chair, 
and   was  anxious  to   keep  her  undisturbed.     The 


HEAVY  TIDINGS  223 

sight  of  the  two  men,  the  faces  of  both,  the  haggard 
helplessness  on  Roboshobery  Dove's,  struck  her 
heart  still.  She  closed  the  door  behind  her.  and, 
filled  with  a  shapeless  fear,  looked  from  one  to  the 
other.  Then  she  caught  sight  of  the  folded  news- 
paper still  in  the  old  sailor's  hand,  and  something 
cold  closed  tight  on  her  heart,  and  held  it. 

"'Tis— 'tis— O— 'tisn't  Jack— is 't?"  she  gasped. 
"Tell  me — Master  Dove — is't  news?" 

Dove  only  stared,  pale  and  helpless.  Lingood 
struggled  with  something  gripping  at  his  throat, 
and  said  :  "  There — there 's — been  some  fightin'." 

The  girl  could  say  nothing,  but  her  eyes  were 
wide  and  her  cheeks  pale. 

"There's — been  fightin',"  Lingood  struggled  on, 
"  an'  'tis  thote — he  may  be  one  o'  the  wounded." 

His  face  betrayed  the  kindly  lie,  and  Dorrily 
looked  mazedly  at  Dove.  His  face  there  was  no 
mistaking.  A  little  murmur  came  from  the  girl's 
throat,  where  something  struggled,  like  a  sob.  She 
moved  her  lips,  but  there  was  no  sound,  and  horror 
grew  over  her  face.  She  moved  her  lips  again, 
and  Lingood,  knowing  what  she  would  ask,  nodded 
sorrowfully,  and  bowed  his  head. 

For  a  moment  she  seemed  like  to  fall.  None 
but   himself  ever  knew  how  well-nigh  irresistible 


224  CUNNING  MURRELL 

was  Lingood's  impulse  to  catch  her  in  his  arms, 
though  none  could  less  readily  have  explained  the 
honourable  restraint  that  he  put  on  himself.  He 
clenched  his  hands  and  dropped  them  by  his  side, 
and  it  was  Roboshobery  Dove  that  took  her  and 
passed  his  great  knotted  hand  gently  over  her 
hair  and  her  cheek.  "  Poor  gal !  poor  gal !  "  said 
Roboshobery  Dove.  And  tears  ran  unrestrained 
over  the  old  man's  face. 

But  Dorrily's  weakness  did  not  endure ;  she  had 
duties,  and  there  was  no  leisure  for  swooning. 
She  must  go  to  Jack's  mother.  She  stood,  and 
put  Dove's  hand  quietly  back  from  her  face, 
turned,  and  walked  to  the  door.  She  faltered  and 
stopped  at  the  threshold  with  the  thought  of  the 
poor  broken  mind  within,  and  with  the  first  glim- 
mering of  a  sense  of  the  task  that  lay  before  her. 
Then  she  lifted  the  latch  and  went  in. 

Dove  and  Lingood  looked  at  each  other,  pale 
and  blank.  What  should  they  do  now?  What 
else  could  be  done  ?  To  stay  were  useless,  or  even 
indecent ;  to  run  away  from  the  women  in  grief 
seemed  even  worse.  They  would  be  sick — fainting 
— dying  perhaps. 

"We  ote  to  a-brote  a  drop  o'  brandy,"  said 
Roboshobery  Dove. 


HEAVY  TIDINGS  225 

He  looked  across  the  meadow  beyond  the  fence, 
and  saw  something  that  gave  him  inspiration.  It 
was  a  young  woman  in  a  print  gown  and  a  white 
sun-bonnet,  carrying  a  baby.  He  had  seen  her  of 
late  working  in  the  hayfields,  and  he  had  no  doubt 
that  she  had  come  from  the  meadow  beyond  to 
take  her  mid-day  rest  and  food  alone,  and  to  suckle 
her  child.  He  had  seen  her  do  it  before ;  and  he 
judged  —  indeed,  he  had  heard  —  the  reason  that 
made  her  remove  herself  and  her  child  from  the 
notice  of  her  fellow-workers.  He  saw  no  present 
difficulty  in  that  reason,  but  rather  an  opportunity  ; 
for  this  girl,  in  some  degree  cast  out  herself,  might 
in  fellow-feeling  be  ready  to  give  aid  and  comfort 
to  afflicted  women  whom  the  rest  shunned.  Dove 
went  out  at  the  gate  and  spoke  to  her. 

"My  gal,"  he  said,  "will  yow  come  an'  do  a 
kindness  to  two  women  in  deadly  trouble.?" 

Dorcas  Brooker  looked  up  at  him,  nodded 
toward  the  cottage,  and  said :  "  There  ?  " 

"  Ay,  there.  Their  man  be  lost — killed  in  the 
wars  ;  an'  they  be  dolourin'  at  the  news  just  brote. 
'Twants  a  woman  to  tend  'em.  God  bless  'ee,  my 
gal,  if  yow  go,  an'  I  '11  see  yow  doan't  lose  wages. 
Come  to  me  for  'em — Roboshobery  Dove,  by  the 
four-wont  way." 
P 


226  CUNNING  MURRELL 

She  looked  at  her  child,  and  then  at  the  cottage. 
"Lost  their  man,  d'ye  say?  'Tis  young  Mart'n, 
as  I  Ve  heard.     An'  I  know  what  be  said  of  'em." 

"  Hev  yow  never  heard  ill  things  said  of  others 
than  they?" 

"  Ay,  that  I  hev,  Master  Dove,"  the  girl  answered 
sadly.  "  I  ben't  afeared,  an'  if  they  want  my  help 
they  shall  hev  it ;  though  I  doubt." 

Dove  gave  her  the  newspaper.  "  The  news  be 
in  there,"  he  said,  "  word  for  word.  Hide  it  about 
ye,  an'  let  see  if  yow  think  well.  An'  if  anythin' 
be  needed  send  or  come  to  me.  or  Master  Lingood 
here." 

Dorcas  Brooker  went  through  the  gate,  listened 
for  a  moment  at  the  door,  and  knocked.  There 
was  no  answer.  Irresolute,  she  looked  back  at 
Dove.  He  nodded  vehemently  and  motioned  her 
to  enter ;  and  she  lifted  the  latch  and  went  in,  as 
Dorrily  had  done. 

"  'Tis  arl  to  be  done,"  said  Dove  ;  and  the  two 
men  turned  their  steps  toward  the  village.  Neither 
spoke  much  on  the  way,  but  Lingood  was  im- 
mersed in  doubts  and  perplexities  that  the  other 
guessed  nothing  of. 


CHAPTER    XIX 

THE  DEVIL  AND  HIS  MASTER 

INSIGNIFICANT  to  the  rest  of  the  world,  in 
Hadleigh  this  was  the  greatest  piece  of  news 
yet  come  from  the  war.  Men  stayed  their  work 
to  consider  it,  and  women  talked  of  it  over  fences. 
The  feeling  in  the  matter  was  diverse.  Some 
were  sorry — all  professed  to  be — for  Jack  Martin, 
who  was  dead  and  past  pity ;  nobody  ventured 
openly  to  express  sympathy  with  his  mother  but 
Roboshobery  Dove  and  Steve  Lingood — perhaps 
because  in  their  cases  there  was  no  woman  to 
reproach  either  of  them  for  it.  For  it  was  a  fact 
that  the  women  were,  in  general,  as  bitter  as  ever, 
or  bitterer.  It  may  have  been  partly  that  a  secret 
and  sneaking  misgiving  as  to  their  treatment  of 
Mrs.  Martin  and  Dorrily  Thorn  in  the  past  stimu- 
lated them  now  to  keep  each  other  in  countenance 
by  a  sharper  display  of  severity.  Be  that  as  it 
might,  the  women  wasted  no  commiseration  on  the 

227 


228  CUNNING  MURRELL 

witches  at  the  black  cottage.  Mrs.  Banham,  in 
fact,  did  not  conceal  an  exultation  that  made 
Roboshobery  Dove  shudder.  Here  was  a  judg- 
ment, she  said,  on  the  witch  that  had  afflicted  her 
children :  her  own  child  was  taken  at  a  stroke. 
If  more  proof  had  been  needed  of  Mrs.  Martin's 
guilt,  here  it  was.  Would  such  a  blow  have  fallen 
so  pat  to  time  on  an  innocent  woman  ?  And  the 
pious  women  of  Hadleigh  could  not  believe  that 
it  would. 

Roboshobery  Dove  viewed  this  general  hostility 
with  dismay.  He  had  not  ventured  to  intrude 
on  the  bereaved  women,  but  he  knew  that  Dorcas 
Brooker  had  been  with  them,  and  that  she  had 
returned  to  help  in  household  duties  while  Dorrily 
tended  her  aunt.  So  much  being  provided  for, 
he  set  himself  to  consider  what  else  might  be  done. 

He  was  unpractised  in  excogitation,  so  that  it 
cost  him  some  hours  of  thought  to  arrive  at  the 
conclusion  that  any  attempt  to  influence  the  feel- 
ing of  the  village  toward  Mrs.  Martin  must  be 
made  through  Cunning  Murrell.  He  was  all  un- 
aware that  Steve  Lingood  had  already  come  to 
the  same  opinion,  and  had  failed  miserably  in  an 
attempt  to  apply  it,  or  he  might  have  been  deterred 
from  the  course  he  now  resolved  on  ;  which  was  to 


THE  DEVIL  AND  HIS  MASTER     229 

put  aside  his  wonted  awe  of  the  cunning  man  and 
make  intercession. 


Cunning  Murrell  came  over  the  stile  and  into 
the  lane  in  the  early  dark  of  that  evening,  with 
an  extra  large  and  heavy  frail  over  his  back — ^just 
such  a  frail  as  the  Banhams  had  seen  him  carrying 
the  night  before.  Now,  the  reason  of  his  irritation 
on  that  occasion,  and  the  reason  of  his  stealth  on 
this,  was  that  the  frail  enveloped  nothing  but  a 
tub  of  white  brandy.  It  was  a  laborious  and  a 
gradual  task  for  so  puny  a  man,  this  bringing  up 
the  hill  of  forty  such  tubs,  one  at  a  time,  with 
several  journeys  a  night  ;  though,  of  course,  a 
strong  carrier  in  the  old  days  was  wont  to  carry 
two  at  once.  He  had  brought  up  more  than 
thirty  already,  and  stowed  them  neatly  in  his 
cottage ;  and  his  load  had  never  been  observed 
except  that  once.  Forty  were  all  he  designed  to 
bring.  For  with  all  his  subtlety  Cunning  Murrell 
was  resolved  to  deal  strict  justice  to  everybody — 
except  perhaps  the  Queen,  whom  he  had  never 
thought  of  as  a  party  to  the  transaction.  There 
were  a  hundred  tubs,  and  Golden  Adams  had 
agreed  with  Cloyse  for  half  profits,  after  expenses 
had  been  paid.      Now  Cloyse  wished  to  take  the 


230  CUNNING  MURRELL 

lot,  and  had  attempted  to  bribe  Murrell  to  help 
him.  The  preliminary  fee  he  had  accepted  ;  why 
not,  since  it  was  offered  unconditionally?  The 
promised  fee  he  feared  Cloyse  would  never  pay, 
when  he  discovered  what  had  been  done.  For, 
since  Cloyse  was  reluctant  to  divide  the  money, 
Murrell  was  dividing  the  goods.  Twenty  tubs,  he 
had  decided,  should  be  allowed  Cloyse  to  pay  ex- 
penses ;  half  of  the  remaining  eighty  was  forty, 
and  these  he  had  set  about  bringing  away  for 
Golden  Adams's  share — and  his  own.  As  the  task 
proceeded  and  the  tale  of  tubs  disposed  about 
the  cottage  grew  larger,  Murrell  was  conscious  of 
a  certain  uneasiness,  of  an  unfamiliar  sort  ;  for, 
with  all  his  secret  arts,  he  saw  no  way  of  escaping 
gaol  if  by  any  accident  the  hoard  should  be  dis- 
covered. That  would  mean  ruin — the  one  form  of 
ruin  that  could  terrify  him.  Money  was  useful, 
but  he  wanted  no  more  of  it  than  sufficed  for 
present  needs.  His  fame  and  dignity  were  every- 
thing. He  was  known  and  deferred  to  throughout 
his  world — that  is  to  say  in  all  the  farms  and 
cottages  of  Essex  and  in  many  of  those  of  Kent ; 
and  his  curious  distinction  and  power  had  endured 
a  lifetime.  Through  all  he  had  maintained  the 
form   of  despising  mere  gain,  and    had    put   him- 


THE  DEVIL  AND  HIS  MASTER     231 

self  wholly  above  sordid  matters  of  trade  and 
bargain.  And  now,  to  be  hustled  off  to  Chelms- 
ford  gaol  for  dealing  in  smuggled  brandy  would 
be  a  disgrace  beyond  conception,  and  the  end  of 
all  his  authority.  The  apprehension  oppressed 
him  hourly,  and  he  began  to  doubt  his  wisdom 
in  meddling  so  far  in  the  affair,  and  to  suspect 
himself  of  yielding  to  an  unworthy  temptation. 
He  was  soiling  his  hands  with  a  doubtful  business, 
he  feared,  and  he  even  began  at  last  to  experience 
a  faint  misgiving  that  perhaps  something  was  due 
to  the  Queen  in  the  matter  after  all.  No  doubt  all 
these  embarrassments  would  vanish  once  the  danger 
was  over  and  the  tubs  converted  into  money ;  but 
now  the  tubs  were  in  his  house,  and  the  danger 
was  present ;  and  even  Cunning  Murrell  could  not 
always  discriminate  between  the  prickings  of 
conscience  and  a  sense  of  personal  risk.  In  fine, 
for  once  Cunning  Murrell  was  uneasy  and  a  trifle 
timid. 

He  came  over  the  stile,  and  was  come  some  few 
yards  up  the  lane  when  he  was  conscious,  first,  of 
the  slow  thump  of  Roboshobery  Dove's  wooden  leg, 
and  then  of  the  man  himself,  scarce  twenty  yards 
away,  and  almost  at  Murrell's  own  door.  Murrell 
hesitated,   but   the  old  sailor  had  seen  him,  and 


232  CUNNING  MURRELL 

came  toward  him  with  much  respect  and  pulling 
of  the  forelock. 

"Good  evenin',  Master  Murr'll,  sir  —  good 
evenin',"  said  Roboshobery  deferentially ;  for  he 
was  resolved  that  if  politeness  would  concilate  the 
wise  man  he  should  have  it.  Wherefore  also  he 
swung  round  on  his  peg  and  made  a  snatch  at  the 
load  on  Murrell's  back.  "  'Tis  summat  heavy  yow 
hev  there,  Master  Murr'll,  sir,"  he  said.  "  Let  me 
take  a  lift  of  it." 

Murrell  turned  and  swung  it  away  with  such 
suddenness  as  almost  to  lose  his  balance.  "  No,  no," 
he  said  hastily,  "  'tis  right  as  it  be,  Master  Dove." 

But  Roboshobery  Dove  was  bent  on  civility. 
"  Do'ee,  Master  Murr'll,"  he  said,  '  do'ee  let  me 
take  a  lift  o't — yow  be  tired."  And  he  followed 
the  bulging  frail  with  outstretched  arms,  while 
Murrell,  mightily  alarmed,  turned  and  turned,  so 
that  they  gyrated  one  about  the  other. 

"  Let  be,  I  tell  'ee  ! "  cried  Murrell,  now  angry 
as  well  as  frightened  ;  for  Dove  had  touched  the 
burden  once,  and  might  have  felt  the  tub.  "  I  'm 
nigh  home  now,  an'  I  want  no  help." 

Dove  dropped  his  arms,  fearing  he  had  offended. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Master  Murrell,"  he  said 
humbly.       "  I    den't    guess    yow    wanted    it    kep' 


THE  DEVIL  AND  HIS  MASTER     233 

private.  Though  I  should  ha'  guessed,  yow  bein' 
true  keeper  o'  so  many  folks'  secrets." 

"  'Tis  arl  right,  an'  no  secret,"  Murrell  replied, 
not  greatly  reassured  by  the  terms  the  other  used. 
"  'Tis  but  something  I  be  feared  o'  breakin'."  And 
he  hastened  to  his  door,  Dove  following,  all 
unconscious  of  the  agitation  he  was  causing. 

For  Murrell  remembered  the  old  sailor's  frequent- 
ings  of  the  castle  ruins  with  the  telescope,  and, 
apprehensive  already,  began  to  wonder  if  he  had 
discovered  anything.  At  the  door  he  turned  at 
bay,  and  asked,  sharply:  "  Anything  yow 're  wantin' 
o'  me.  Master  Dove  ?  " 

"Well,  yes,"  Dove  answered.  "I  was  thinkin' 
o'  gettin'  yow  to  'tend  to  a  little  thing ;  for  the 
good  o'  the  village,  so  to  putt  it." 

"  Stay  there  then  a  minute."  Murrell  went  in  at 
the  door  and  shut  it  behind  him.  Presently  he 
opened  it  again,  and  let  Dove  in. 

Roboshobery  had  never  been  in  the  room  before, 
and  now  he  stared  about  him  mightil}\  Murrell 
glanced  hastily  round,  fearful  that  some  tub — for 
there  were  a  dozen  in  that  very  room — might  not 
be  effectually  concealed  ;  and  then,  with  something 
of  his  common  authority,  he  said  :  '  Sit  yow  down, 
Master  Dove,  an'  open  your  business." 


234  CUNNING  MURRELL 

'"Tis  well  knowed,  Master  Murr'll,  sir,"  Robo- 
shobery  began,  when  the  shiny  hat  was  put  away 
under  his  chair;  "'tis  well  knowed  as  there  be 
three  witches  in  Hadleigh — ollis." 

Cunning Murrell was  relieved;  it  seemed  that  Dove 
was  not  come  to  persist  in  sly  jokes  about  those 
tubs,  after  all.     So  he  answered,  "  Ay,  'tis  so." 

"  Yow  hev  said  so  yourself,  Master  Murr'll." 

"  Yes,  I  hev." 

"  An'  'tis  no  doubt  they  do  ill  in  the  village." 

"  No  doubt  at  arl." 

"There  be  a  many  evil  things  they  do,  doubt- 
less," Roboshobery  went  on  ;  for  he  had  resolved 
to  be  very  artful.  "  Doubtless  many  a  thing  as 
yow  'd  know,  Master  Murr'll,  sir,  an'  even  oathers 
'ud  know,  but  as  I  wouldn't  hear  of  myself;  'cause 
when  I  'm  not  in  my  garden,  I  stay  much  up  at  the 
Castle  pickin'  up  little  bits  o'  noos  of  a  different 
sort."  And  he  winked  and  nodded  genially,  for  he 
felt  that  he  was  establishing  friendly  and  confidential 
terms  with  the  wise  man. 

Now  what  did  t/ia^  mean  ?  Was  it  a  hint  ? 
Murrell's  doubts  revived. 

"  Consekence  it  do  seem  to  me  that  summat 
should  be  done,"  Roboshobery  went  on.  "  An' 
there  can  be  no  doubt  but  what  yow  be  the  onny 


THE  DEVIL  Ax\D  HIS  MASTER     235 

man  in  this  vvarld  equal  to  the  job.     Lord,  Master 
Murr'll,  how  the  devil  must  tremble  afore  yow  !  " 

There  was  a  cautious  complacence  in  JMurrell's 
face,  but  he  said  nothing. 

"  An'  I  hoad  a  wager  he  do  get  to  arl  sort  o' 
tricks  to  spile  your  charms  and  oather  business 
performances.     Ay,  that  I  lay." 

"  I  be  the  devil's  master,  Master  Dove,"  said 
Murrell,  "an'  tricks  of  his  go  for  nothen  with  me." 

"Ay,  sarten  to  say.  'Tis  a  mighty  poor  chance 
he  stand  with  yow,  Master  Murr'll,  as  be  well 
knowed.     But  he  do  delude  oathers,  I  count." 

"  No  doubt  he  do." 

"  Ah,  'tis  what  I  been  thinkin',  an'  'tis  well  to  hev 
yow  bear  me  out,  Master  Murr'll,  sir."  Robosho- 
bery  Dove's  strategy  was  developing.  "  Now  putt 
the  case,  Master  Murr'll,  that  the  devil  do  get  to 
deludin'  some  pusson.  Putt  it  that  the  pusson  be 
bewitched  or  under  an  ill  star,  or  what  not,  an'  that 
pusson  comes  to  yow  for  your  strong  an'  powerful 
help.  'Twould  be  needful,  I  take  it,  for  that  pusson 
to  mention  partic'lars,  an' figures,  and  dates  o'  birth, 
an'  one  thing  an'  another  for  yow  to  make  your 
calc'lations  an'  spells." 

"Yes." 

"An'  in  course,  if  them  partic'lars  an'  figures  an' 


236  CUNNING  MURRELL 

what  not  was  arl  wrong,  they  would  spile  your 
calc'lations  and  charms,  an'  putt  'em  out  o' 
reckonin'." 

"  Well,  yes,"  Murrell  admitted,  as  he  could  not 
help  it.  "Yes,  no  doubt  that  might  be."  But  he 
began  to  suspect  the  drift  of  the  argument. 

"  So  that  if  that  pusson  was  deluded  by  the 
devil  to  mistake  his  partic'lars,  yow  might  come 
to  nat'ral  miscountin's,  an'  'haps  lay  the  mischief 
to  a  wrong  party." 

Murrell  frowned  and  shuffled  uneasily.  "  I  say," 
he  persisted,  "  the  devil's  tricks  go  for  nothen  with 
me." 

"  Ay  'tis  a  doubtless  thing.  Master  Murr'U.  But 
what  I  were  goin'  to  say  were  this.  There  be  three 
witches  in  Hadleigh,  an'  'twould  be  well  to  find 
them  arl.  Now  'tis  without  doubt  that  yow,  Master 
Murr'll,  so  larned  as  yow  be,  must  hev  some  way 
o'  findin'  'em  arl  alone — off  your  own  bat,  so  to 
say  it  —  an'  without  dependin'  any  way  on  the 
partic'lars  give  by  oather  people,  which  the  devil 
like  as  not  hev  been  playin'  his  darty  tricks  on." 

"  There  be  sarten  curis  arts  that  I  might  use," 
Cunning  Murrell  replied.  "But  why  d'ye  wish 
it?" 

"  I  would  offer,  of  course,  to  pay  proper  for  the 


THE  DEVIL  AND  HIS  MASTER     237 

calculations,"  Dove  went  on,  ignoring  the  question 
for  the  moment,  "  if  yow  will  accept  of  it ;  as  is 
onny  right  and  proper,  for  we  read  the  labourer  be 
worthy  of  his  hire;  though  I  mean  no  offence.  Master 
Murr'll,  sir,  in  sayin'  labourer,  an'  would  not  think 
to  putt  yow  among  sich  for  a  moment.  An'  'haps, 
Master  Murr'll,  sir,  yow  will  tell  me  what  the 
charge  would  be,  so  that  I  may  make  arl  right  in 
adwance." 

"Yow  ha'n't  told  me  yet,"  Murrell  said  quietly, 
"  why  'tis  yow  want  this  done.  Why  should  yow 
pay  for  the  general  good  ?  You  ben't  bewitched 
yourself,  be  yow  ?  " 

"  Lord  bless  'ee,  no,  Master  Murr'll — never  better 
in  my  life.  An'  I  was  a-goin'  to  say.  Master 
Murr'll,  sir,  that  if,  besides  the  proper  payment,  a 
little  supply  o'  good  brandy  be  acceptable — yow 
know,  the  oad  sort  " — here  Dove  winked  and  jerked 
his  thumb  backward,  to  Murrell's  sudden  alarm,  in 
a  direction  not  so  far  out  from  where  some  tubs 
were — "the  oad  sort,  yow  know — why  yow  shall 
hev  it.  Though  'haps  yow  've  arl  you  want.  Still, 
there  't  be,  if  yow  like,  an'  welcome."  And  Robo- 
shobery  Dove  winked  and  jerked  his  thumb  again 
in  the  same  direction. 

It  would  seem  that  this  man  must  know  some- 


238  CUNNING  MURRELL 

thing.  But  Murrell  kept  his  countenance  and 
repeated:  "Yow  ha'n't  told  me  yet,  Master  Dove, 
why  yow  want  this  done." 

"  Master  Murr'll,  sir ! "  Roboshobery  exclaimed, 
suddenly  catching  the  little  man's  hand  and 
shaking  it ;  "  Master  Murr'll,  what  I  hev  said  will 
make  plain  the  great  respect  I  hoad  yow  in.  We 
unnerstan'  one  anoather,  Master  Murr'll,  don't  us?" 
And  he  winked  once  more.  "  That  bein'  said,  I 
don'  mind  tellin'  yow  'tis  mos'ly  on  account  o' 
Mrs.  Martin,  poor  young  Jack  Martin's  mother." 

"  How  on  account  of  her?  " 

"  I  '11  tell  'ee — with  arl  respect,  mind.  'Tis  sarten 
truth  that  there  be  three  witches  in  Hadleigh,  for 
that  yow  hev  found  by  your  own  conjurin's,  Master 
Murr'll,  an'  putt  forth.  But  when  yow  find  Mrs. 
Martin  a  witch,  'tis  on  partic'lars  give  by  Mrs. 
Banham,  as  the  devil  may  hev  deluded  ;  as  the 
devil  imist  hev  deluded.  Master  Murr'll ;  'cause 
why?  Here  be  young  Jack  Martin,  Master  Murr'll, 
killed  like  a  brave  man,  a-fightin'  the  deadly 
Rooshans  ;  an'  I  taught  him  his  cutlass  drill  meself 
Now,  is  it  possible  his  mother  be  a  witch  ?  Why, 
stands  to  reason  not !  'Tain't  in  natur  !  The  devil 
hev  muddled  the  partic'lars.  Master  Murr'll!" 

Murrell  heard  this  speech  first  with  a  frown,  then 


THE  DEVIL  AND  HIS  MASTER     239 

with  a  pursing  of  the  lips,  and  last  with  something 
not  unlike  a  twinkle.  "  An'  how  do  this  make  with 
oather  witches  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Plain  enough,  Master  Murr'll.  If  yow  find  the 
true  three  'twill  make  arl  right,  an'  mistakes  will 
be  putt  aside.  An'  now  'tis  so  plain  as  the  devil 
must  ha'  muddled  the  partic'lars !  Why,  what  can 
'ee  say  arter  what's  happened?  Her  boy  be  killed, 
I  tell  'ee,  fightin'  the  Rooshans !  An'  I  fit  the 
French  meself,  when  I  was  that  high,  damme ! " 

Roboshobery  Dove  in  his  excitement  forgot  all 
his  awe  of  Cunning  Murrell,  raised  his  voice,  and 
banged  his  fist  on  Cunning  Murrell's  table.  The 
wise  man  shook  his  head  and  smiled  gently,  though 
with  one  more  quick  glance  at  where  the  tubs  lay 
hid.  "  I  doubt  your  reasonin',  Master  Dove,"  he 
said,  "but  I  will  see  what  I  can  do.  I  want  no 
payment  from  yow  now,  at  any  rate." 

"  Yow  will  try 't,  Master  Murr'll,  will  'ee?" 
"  I  will  consider  of  it.  Master  Dove,  though  'twill 
make  no  difference  to  Mrs.  Martin.     I  doubt  any- 
thin'  can  help  her — even  repentance  be  denied  to 
witches." 

"  But  I  tell  'ee,  Master  Murr'll,  sir,  her  boy " 

Murrell  raised  his  hand.  "  That  I  hev  heard 
a'ready.  Master    Dove,  an'  'tis   no  need  to  say't 


240  CUNNING  MURRELL 

again.  I  will  consider  of  what  other  yow  say  ; 
but  as  to  Mrs.  Martin,  she  will  be  well  an'  truly 
tried  once  more.  Banham's  girl  be  sore  afflicted, 
an'  the  trial  be  to  make  again,  an'  soon.  Then  we 
shall  see  how  near  truth  your  fancy  takes  yow." 

Dove  scratched  his  head  dubiously  and  asked : 
"Wiirt  be  done  arl  by  yourself.  Master  Murr'll, 
without  no  other  party's  partic'lars  ? ' 

"  Ay,  it  will.  An'  with  the  best  preparation  my 
curis  an'  powerful  arts  can  give." 

Roboshobery  Dove  thought  for  a  moment,  and 
decided  that  on  the  whole  nothing  better  could  be 
expected.  If  only  the  preliminaries  were  safe- 
guarded he  was  confident  that  any  test  of  Mrs. 
Martin,  according  to  proper  rule,  must  end  in  her 
triumphant  acquittal.  So  he  said:  "  Thank 'ee. 
Master  Murr'll,  sir,  thank  'ee.  If  yow '11  do't  arl 
yourself  'twill  end  right,  sarten  to  say.  I  don't 
know  what  Banham  may  be  payin',  an'  'tis  not  my 
business.  But  if  there  be  any  little  extra  perform- 
ance as  would  make  more  sure,  an'  would  come 
dearer,  why  I'm  your  man  to  pay't.  We  mus' 
take  arl  care,  Master  Murr'll,  when  there  be  danger 
to  a  poor  widow  in  trouble." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  Murrell  answered  testily,  "  arl  care 
will  be  taken,  o'  course,  and  there  be  no  need  for 


THE  DEVIL  AND  HIS  MASTER     241 

yow  to  interfere."  He  would  have  been  still 
sharper  of  tongue  were  it  not  that  the  matter  of  the 
tubs  still  lay  heavy  on  his  mind.  "An' tell  me, 
Master  Dove,"  he  said,  "what  the  noos  may  be  yow 
gather  at  the  Castle  ? " 

"  Noos  ?  Why,  the  war.  Prizes  brote  in  to  go 
to  Chatham,  an'  that.  An'  the  craft  goin'  up  an' 
down." 

"Nothen  more?" 

"  Nothen  more  ?  Why  no,  nothen  partic'lar  ; 
barrin'  any  little  chance  neighbour's  business  as 
might  pass  under  my  nose.  But  what  might  yow 
be  thinkin'  of?" 

"  O,  nothen,  nothen,"  Murrell  answered  with 
impatience.  "  Nothen  at  arl.  'Tis  enough.  Master 
Dove." 


CHAPTER    XX 

^A   GALLANT   OFFER 

THE  chief  officer  of  the  Leigh  Coastguard 
disappeared  behind  the  Castle  hill,  and 
presently  could  be  seen  striding  down  the  lower 
slopes  and  over  the  marsh  to  his  station. 

He  had  received  the  news  of  Jack  Martin's  death 
that  morning,  and  had  lost  no  time  in  setting  out 
for  the  black  cottage.  Martin  had  been  one  of  his 
best  and  steadiest  men,  and  the  chief  officer  wished 
to  do  the  family  any  service  that  was  in  his  limited 
powers.  He  was  a  neglected  lieutenant  with  a 
savage  manner  and  one  eye,  and  ere  he  had  started 
out  he  had  raked  through  his  pockets  and  his  desk, 
and  had  spent  a  quarter  of  an  hour  of  calculation 
over  the  little  heap  of  money  thus  collected : 
making  careful  count  of  the  period  to  next 
pay-day,  and  resolving  on  the  smallest  sum  that 
would  carry  him  through  to  that  occasion.  This 
settled,  the  little  heap  had  been  separated  into  two, 

242 


A  GALLANT  OFFER  243 

whereof  the  larger  had  been  rolled  up  in  a  piece 
of  paper,  and  the  other  shovelled  back  into  his 
breeches-pocket.  For  he  knew  that  Jack  Martin's 
half-pay,  which  his  mother  had  been  receiving, 
must  stop  now.  He  also  knew  that  any  other  sum 
which  might  have  been  his  would  be  long  enough 
finding  its  way  through  a  maze  of  forms  and 
systems  ere  it  reached  Hadleigh  ;  for  he  had  had 
his  own  experiences  of  "  the  authorities." 

For  this  last  reason — perhaps  in  some  small 
degree  from  his  want  of  habit  in  expressing  him- 
self unaided  by  threats  and  oaths — he  had  said 
little  at  his  visit ;  for  he  knew  that  it  would  have 
been  foolish  to  suggest  any  hope  of  pension  allow- 
ance, which  was  at  the  discretion  of  the  Admiralty. 
But  he  offered  to  draw  up  the  needful  petition,  and 
to  back  it  with  his  own  recommendation,  little  as 
that  might  avail.  Also,  since  he  had  some  idea  of 
Mrs.  Martin's  unpopularity,  he  desired  her  to  let 
him  know  if  there  were  any  effort  to  molest  her 
— a  thing  he  would  see  prevented. 

Mrs.  Martin  had  received  him  with  instinctive 
respect  for  his  uniform,  but  with  a  hazy  dulness  that 
seemed  the  sign  of  stupidity  or  indifference.  Indeed, 
save  for  two  intervals  of  relief  in  quiet  tears,  this 
had  been  her  manner  since  Dorrily  had  carried  the 


244  CUXXIXG  :\IURRELL 

news  to  her,  and  the  girl  had  been  more  perplexed 
and  troubled  thereat  than  she  would  have  been  at 
any  violent  explosion  of  grief. 

The  chief  officer  had  spoken  to  Dorrily  alone 
after  leaving  the  cottage,  learning  more  of  the 
attitude  of  the  villagers,  and  repeating  his  offer 
of  help.  Then  he  had  quickly  stepped  back  into 
the  keeping-room,  dumped  something  down  on  the 
table,  and  stalked  off",  glaring  arrogantly  with  his 
one  eye,  and  frowning  mightily. 

Now  he  was  growing  a  smaller  spot  on  the  green 
marsh,  and  Dorrily,  worn  and  broken,  turned  to 
her  aunt  again.  The  girl's  face  was  already  thin, 
and  her  eyes  were  sunken.  Her  constant  watching 
and  anxiety  had  so  kept  her  own  grief  pent  up,  and 
at  the  same  time  had  so  weakened  her  physically, 
that  she  was  in  dread  of  an  utter  breakdown,  and 
did  not  dare  to  think. 

At  her  appearance  Mrs.  Martin  looked  up  with  a 
strange  stealthiness  in  her  face.  "  He  den't  know, 
did  he?"  she  asked. 

Dorrily  could  not  understand. 

"You  know,"'  her  aunt  went  on,  with  a  touch  of 
impatience,  "  He  den't  know  I  was  a  witch, 
did  he  ?  " 

"  No,    deary,"    the    girl    answered,    reassuringly, 


A  GALLANT  OFFER  245 

smoothing  back  the  hair  from  the  thin  face ;  "  he 
wouldn't  believe  such  wicked  things  of  you." 

The  woman  chuckled  —  an  odd,  displeasing 
chuckle,  that  affected  her  niece  like  a  sudden  chill. 
"  No,  no,  he  den't  know.  An'  he  '11  bring  the  guard 
up  if  they  try  to  swim  me,  Dorry."  She  chuckled 
again.  "  That,"  she  said,  "takes  away  the  danger. 
'Tis  a  wonnerful  thing  to  be  a  witch  an'  hev  the 
Queen's  men  at  carl  to  keep  yow  safe  when  the 
folk  come  to  swim  'ee  !  " 

"  Don't  talk  so,  auntie  dear,"  Dorrily  pleaded, 
dismayed  at  this  new  fancy.  "  We  know  you  be  a 
true  woman,  an'  no  such  hainish  thing ! " 

But  Mrs.  Martin  only  said  "Ah!"  shook  her 
head,  and  chuckled  again.  And  present!}',  as 
Dorrily  was  at  some  small  task  in  the  back  room, 
her  aunt's  voice,  strained  and  changed  and  crazy, 
burst  out : 

In  summer  time,  when  flowers  do  spring, 
An'  birds  sit  on  the  tree — e — e 

With  that  the  tuneless  voice  broke  down,  and  soon, 
after  a  chuckle  or  two  more,  she  was  silent. 

So  she  sat  for  a  while,  and  at  last  fell  asleep. 
Such  sleep  as  she  got  now  she  took  chiefly  in  the 
daytime.     Dorrily  closed  the  door  softly,  came  into 


246  CUNNING  MURRELL 

the  garden,  and  sat  on  a  little  bench  that  Jack  had 
made,  in  a  place  where  dog-rose  and  honeysuckle, 
growing  at  the  meadow's  edge,  hung  over  the  fence 
and  made  a  nook.  She  bent  forward  and  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands.  Presently  tears  ran  be- 
tween her  fingers  and  dropped  on  her  apron,  and 
soon  there  came  sobs.  Till  now  the  full  relief  of 
weeping  had  been  denied  her,  for  her  aunt  needed 
constant  care  and  watching ;  but  now  the  solace 
was  unchecked,  and  truly  she  had  need  of  it.  For 
the  world  was  bad,  bitter  bad  to  Dorrily,  and  she 
was  tried  almost  beyond  her  strength.  To  have 
been  one  of  two  bereaved  women  who  could  have 
mourned  together  and  comforted  one  another 
would  have  been  comparative  happiness.  To  have 
been  wholly  alone  would  have  been  bad  enough. 
But  as  she  was,  alone  and  not  alone,  alone  to  bear 
the  pain  of  two,  and  to  keep  guard  and  service  by 
the  twisted  mind  that  till  lately  she  had  looked  to 
for  government  and  support — this  was  a  heavy  load 
indeed. 

In  a  little  while  the  tears  brought  her  a  certain 
calmness,  and  she  remembered  that  the  world  was 
not  wholly  cruel.  Roboshobery  Dove  and  Steve 
Lingood  were  kind  enough,  and  the  chief  officer  of 
the  Leigh  guard,  who  terrorised  his  men,  and  was 


A  GALLANT  OFFER  247 

called  a  Tartar  and  a  tyrant,  had  come  of  his  own 
accord,  though  he  had  never  spoken  a  word  to 
either  her  aunt  or  herself  before,  had  offered  help, 
and  had  left  money  behind  him  on  the  table. 
Dorrily  was  doubtful  about  the  money.  She  could 
not  be  ungrateful,  and,  indeed,  they  were  poor 
enough,  and  the  end  of  things  in  that  respect  she 
could  not  see.  Yet  she  had  a  certain  pride,  and 
here  again  she  felt  her  weakness  and  the  lack  of 
her  aunt's  responsibility. 

Busy  with  her  doubts,  she  had  not  heard  his 
step  ;  but  now  a  shadow  fell  across  the  path,  and 
she  looked  up  to  behold  young  Sim  Cloyse. 

He  stood  awkwardly  enough  before  her,  and 
there  was  in  his  face  a  mixture  of  smirking  pro- 
pitiation and  sly  confidence,  ill  covered  by  an 
assumption  of  sympathy,  that  was  not  agreeable  to 
the  eye.  Yet  Dorrily  was  in  no  state  to  consider 
him  critically,  and  she  saw  nothing  but  the  sym- 
pathy. 

"Yow  mustn't  cry  too  much,"  said  young  Sim 
Cloyse.     "  Though  'tis  but  nat'ral,  sarten  to  say." 

Dorrily  bent  her  head  again. 

"There  be  no  carl  to  be  ashamed  o'  cryin',"  he 
went  on  encouragingly.  "  Though  'haps  it  be  arl 
for  the  best." 


248  CUNNING  MURRELL 

This  seemed  a  shameful  thing  to  say,  at  first  hear- 
ing ;  and  yet — it  was  a  pious  sentiment,  after  all. 

"  I  hope  Mrs.  Mart'n  ben't  very  bad  ?" 

"  Yes,  she  be,"  Dorrily  answered  sorrowfully,  "  so 
bad  that  she  frightens  me." 

'"Tis  pity,"  Sim  pursued,  with  elaborate  sym- 
pathy.   "  An'  folk  ben't  very  kind  to  her,  I  hear  tell." 

"  O  they  be  cruel — bitter  cruel,"  Dorrily  ex- 
claimed passionately.  "  They  say  ill  things  of  her 
even  now." 

"  Ay — that  she  be  a  witch,  I  do  hear.  'Tis  arl 
wrong,  doubtless,  but  they  do  say't.  Ben't  yow 
afeard  they  might  hurt  her  some  day — try  to  swim 
her,  or  what  not  ?  " 

"  I've  thote  it,  an'  so  has  she,  but  there's  been 
no  offer  to  do  such  a  thing  yet.  'Twould  be  too 
wicked  cruel.  Master  Cloyse,  wouldn't  it  ?  You 
don't  think  they  'd  do  it,  do  you  ?  " 

Young  Sim  looked  at  the  cottage  roof,  with  a 
sidelong  peep  at  the  girl's  urgent  face.  "  I  hev 
beared  talk  o'  such  things,  down  at  Leigh,"  he  said, 
"  an'  they  be  a  rough  lot,  some  on  'em.  But  there 
— 'haps  'tis  no  more  than  talk." 

Plainly  Dorrily  was  distressed  anew.  Young  Sim 
paused  thoughtfully  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  then 
said  :  "  I  'm  afeared  she  won't  get  no  pension." 


A  GALLANT  OFFER  249 

"  But  she  ought,"  the  girl  protested,  with  a  sink- 
ing at  the  heart.  "  We  're  goin'  to  ask,  an'  she 
ought  to  have  it." 

He  shook  his  head  sagely.  "No,"  he  said,  "there 
aren't  no  chance  o'  that  now.  None  ever  do,  now  ; 
too  many  bein'  killed.  They  do  it  in  peace  time 
arl  right,  so  as  to  'tice  the  men,  but  when  they  've 
got  'em,  an'  gettin'  'em  killed  too  quick,  they  can't 
afford  it.  'Twould  be  a  disappointment  for  you  to 
build  on  that,  an'  I  woo'n't  like  yow  to  be  dis- 
appointed." 

Dorrily's  distress  was  aggravated.  The  chief 
officer  had  been  doubtful  and  more  than  doubtful, 
and  this  disinterested  corroboration  seemed  to 
settle  it.     Truly  the  prospect  was  grievous. 

Young  Sim  Cloyse  looked  again  at  the  cottage 
roof,  meditatively.  "  'Tis  gettin'  a  very  oad  place," 
he  remarked  presently,  as  though  to  himself.  "  An' 
it  don't  pay,  that's  sarten." 

Dorrily  heard,  and  looked  up. 

"  Still,"  Sim  pursued,  with  the  same  abstraction, 
"'twould  seem  hard  to  pull  it  down." 

"Pull  down  the  cottage,  Master  Cloyse?"  Dor- 
rily asked.     "  You  don't  think  o'  that,  do  you  ?  " 

"  O  !  "  ejaculated  young  Sim,  as  though  suddenly 
recalled  to  himself     "  I  were  onny  just  a-thinkin'. 


250  CUNNING  MURRELL 

/don't  want  to  pull  't  down — no,  not  me.  But  my 
father,  he  be  that  obs'nit  with  a  thing  like  that, 
yow  can't  think.  ''Tis  no  good  to  me,'  sez  he,  'at 
that  rent,  an'  repairs  a-doin'.  I  could  put  up  a  noo 
place  in  brick,  and  make  double  on  't ! '  " 

"  O,  Master  Cloyse,"  the  girl  pleaded,  "we 
shouldn't  like  to  be  turned  out  !  " 

"That's  what  I  said.  "Twould  be  mighty  hard,' 
sez  I,  '  to  turn  'em  out,  with  nowhere  to  go.'  '  Can't 
help  that,'  sez  my  father.  '  They  bin  there  a  long 
time,'  sez  I,  '  an'  got  used  to  it.'  '  Time  they  had  a 
change,  then,'  sez  he.  'Then,'  sez  I,  'they  can't 
get  no  other  place  so  cheap.  '  No,'  sez  he,  '  they 
can't,  an'  that 's  proof  I  ben't  makin'  enough  out 
o'  the  place.'  He's  a  keen  'un,  is  my  father. 
'  But  then,'  sez  I,  '  they  can't  get  no  other  place  at 
arl,  'cause  nobody '11  have  'em,  consekens  o' bein' 
carled  witches,'  I  sez.  "Haps  not,'  sez  he,  'but 
that's  oather  folks'  fault,  not  mine.'  An'  'twere 
no  manner  o'  use  to  argufy  with  him." 

Dorrily  broke  down  altogether.  "  O,  Master 
Cloyse,  'tis  cruel,  cruel  to  be  so  with  a  poor  woman  !  " 
And  her  face  went  down  into  her  hands  again. 

Instantly  young  Sim  Cloyse  was  on  the  seat 
beside  her.  "  'Tis  no  need  to  take  on  so,"  he  said, 
with  all  the    tenderness  his  voice  could    summon, 


A  GALLANT  OFFER  251 

putting  a  hand  on  her  shoulder.     "  Yovv  can  make 
arl  right,  easy  enough." 

There  was  a  murmur  between  Dorrily's  sobs, 
and  young  Sim  went  on.  " 'Tis  arl  the  easiest 
thing  out.  Yow  can  hev  better  than  fower  pen- 
sions, an'  any  house  you  choose  in  Leigh  or  Had- 
leigh,  or  a  noo  'un  built ;  an'  nobody  durst  lay  a 
finger  on  your  aunt,  witch  or  not.  T'  oather  is  arl 
over  now,  as  yow  doan't  need  to  be  told,  an'  'tis 
well  to  look  to  future." 

Dorrily  shrank,  and  let  her  hands  fall  from  her 
tear-stained  face. 

"  Come,"  said  young  Sim  Cloyse,  "  I  '11  say  't  out. 
Will  yow  hev  me?  Here  I  be,  ready,  willin'  an' 
lovin'.  Say  yow '11  hev  me,  an'  arl  your  troubles 
be  gone — arl  Mrs.  Martin's  troubles  wiped  away 
for  the  rest  of  her  time." 

She  was  at  the  end  of  the  seat  now,  pale  of  face 
and  wild  of  eye.  "  O,  Master  Cloyse  !  "  she  cried, 
"how  can 'ee?  To  talk  o' such  things  now!  Ha' 
ye  no  mercy?  " 

"Mercy?"  young  Sim  repeated,  with  astonish- 
ment— for,  indeed,  he  had  used  his  finest  tact. 
"  Mercy  ?  Why,  'tis  arl  mercy,  an'  affection's 
offerin',  an'  sich  !  Just  think  !  Yow  can  save  your 
aunt  from  starvin'  an'  bein'  turned  out  o'  doors 


252  CUNNING  MURRELL 

without  a  roof,  an'  bein'  swum  for  a  witch — an' 
'haps  drownded  if  she  ben't  one — an'  make  a  lady 
o'  yourself  for  life,  just  by  sayin'  '  yes  '  to  me,  as  is  so 
woundly  fond  o'  ye.  Why  'tis  arl  mercy  !  'Tis  yow 
that  would  hev  no  mercy  on  her  if  yow  den't  say 
'  yes.'  But  that  ye  will  o'  course — yow  be  too  good  a 
gal  to  sarve  her  bad,  I  know.  Come  now,  the  sooner 
yow  say 't  the  sooner  the  troubles  be  done  with." 

"  O,  Master  Cloyse,  I  can't  say  it !  I  can't  say 't ! 
I  can't — not  now,  at  any  rate."  Her  face  was  hid- 
den again,  almost  at  her  knees.  "  O,  let  me  think, 
Master  Cloyse — let  me  think  of  it  alone !  I  be  in 
such  cruel  trouble,  Master  Cloyse— such  deadly 
cruel  trouble !  An'  my  head  be  so  bad  !  Leave 
me  alone,  Master  Cloyse,  do'ee— onny  to  think, 
Master  Cloyse,  for  a  day  or  two  !  " 

To  young  Sim  Cloyse  this  seemed  useless  delay, 
since  the  issue  was  so  simple,  and  since  there 
remained  but  one  reasonable  course  for  any  girl 
not  a  fool.  Still  he  supposed  that  some  allowance 
must  be  made  for  the  natural  eccentricity  of  women, 
and  so,  since  he  was  prepared  with  no  more  blan- 
dishments, he  presently  sheered  off,  with  a  promise 
to  return  in  a  day  or  two.  It  was  but  the  delay  of 
womanish  vanity,  he  assured  himself,  and  the  desire 
not  to  make  her  consent  seem  too  cheap.     It  was 


A  GALLANT  OFFER  253 

unbusiness-like,  perhaps,  but  he  could  afford  to 
overlook  that,  since  the  result  was  so  certain.  And 
so  young  Sim  Cloyse  went  over  the  foot-hills  and 
marshes  in  the  wake  of  the  vanished  chief  officer, 
whistling  aloud,  and  now  and  again  winking  and 
grinning  self-congratulation  on  his  uncommon 
cleverness  and  knowledge  of  human  nature. 

As  for  Dorrily,  she  was  face  to  face  with  a  means 
of  ending  her  troubles  that  affrighted  her  more 
than  the  troubles  themselves ;  and  her  affliction 
was  the  greater  inasmuch  as  it  seemed  that  her 
duty  and  gratitude  to  Jack's  mother  demanded  the 
sacrifice.  Her  detestation  of  young  Sim  Cloyse 
she  could  never  overcome  ;  but  it  were  a  selfishness 
to  let  her  inclinations  govern  her.  For  herself 
alone  it  would  be  better  far  to  die ;  but  there  in  the 
cottage  was  the  poor  broken-witted  woman  who 
had  reared  her — Jack's  mother  ;  and  for  her  sake 
was  there  an  alternative?  Ere  long  tears  failed 
Dorrily  wholly,  and  a  blank,  almost  calm,  anguish 
filled  her  soul  and  dulled  her  faculties. 

Soon  after  midday  a  perfunctory  boy  dawdled 
and  divagated  down  the  lane  from  the  post-office, 
and  at  last  climbed  the  bank  and  left  a  letter.  It 
was  Jack's  last  writing,  finished  three  days  before 
he  went  ashore  for  the  last  time. 


CHAPTER    XXI 

MAN   THE   MASTER 

THAT  night  Dorrily  slept,  in  the  sheer  stupor 
of  weariness  ;  how  long  she  could  not  guess. 
In  the  black  of  the  night  she  was  awakened  by 
her  aunt,  who  had  crept  close  to  her  side,  talking 
fast,  and  again  chuckling  horribly. 

"  Be  a  witch,  Dorry,  like  me ! "  she  was  saying. 
"  'Tis  a  fine  thing — a  dogged  fine  thing  to  be  a 
witch,  I  tell  'ee  !  " 

She  held  the  girl  fiercely,  and  her  vehemence 
was  dreadful.  "  Get  to  sleep,  auntie  dear,"  Dorrily 
said,  "you  be  dreamin' !  " 

"  No,  Dorry  gal,  'tis  no  dreamin'.  'Tis  real  an' 
fine.     I  be  a  witch,  I  tell  'ee  !  " 

"  There — there — rest  you,  deary,  do,"  Dorrily 
pleaded.  "You  be  a  good  woman,  sad  put  on 
an'  afflicted,  but  nothen  wicked,  I  know !  " 

"  I  tell  'ee  I  be  a  witch,  Dorry  Thorn  !  Else 
why  do  I  see  'em  every  night?     See  'em  an'  talk 

254 


MAN  THE  MASTER  255 

to  'em  every  night,  John  Martin  an'  Reuben  Thorn 
your  father  ?  Ay,  an'  my  boy  John,  too,  that  they 
tell  me  be  dead  ! " 

Dorrily  trembled  as  she  fondled  the  fevered  head, 
and  kissed  the  hot  cheek. 

"  I  see  my  man  that  I  've  lost  for  years,  an'  he 
kisses  me  an'  lies  at  my  side !  He  be  just  gone 
while  I'm  talkin' — but  he'll  come  back,  an'  soon! 
An',  Dorry,  I  hev  letters — letters  at  daytime. 
There  was  one  to-day,  from  my  boy  John  at  the 
wars.  'Tis  double  joy — the  joy  o'  letters  from 
the  absent  by  day,  an'  by  night  they  be  absent 
no  more.  Be  a  witch  like  me,  Dorry,  an'  see  'em  ! 
Death  an'  life  mean  nothen  if  you  be  a  witch  ! 
My  boy  John  be  at  the  wars,  fightin'  as  a  man 
should,  an'  here  at  night  to  kiss  his  mother!  Be 
a  witch,  Dorry,  an'  John  '11  kiss  'ee  !  Be  a  witch 
like  me,  with  Queen's  men  to  guard  ye  from  the 
folk  !  Come !  Come  you  to  Castle  Hill,  where 
arl  the  witches  be  at  night !  " 

She  sprang  up  and  pulled  at  Dorrily's  arm, 
and  so,  raving  and  urging,  made  to  leave  the 
cottage.  So  she  struggled  and  chattered  for  a 
while,  till  of  a  sudden  she  fell  exhausted,  and 
suffered  herself  to  be  put  quietly  into  bed  again, 
where   she   slept   soundly.     And    in    the  morning 


256  CUNNING  MURRELL 

she  was  quiet  still,  and,  it  would  seem,  even 
placidly  happy.  Dorrily  left  her  to  rest  the  early 
hours  in  bed,  and  rose,  hollow-eyed,  to  face  the 
day. 

Would  young  Sim  Cloyse  come  again  to-day? 
She  half  expected  it.  Weary  and  distraught,  she 
was  wholly  incapable  of  giving  his  offer  anything 
like  definite  consideration  ;  but  unconsciously  at 
the  back  of  her  mind  the  resolve  was  growing  up 
to  entreat  a  little  respite,  to  pray  at  least  for  a 
little  more  time,  if  only  in  regard  to  common 
decency  and  the  memory  of  the  dead ;  with  a 
feeling  that  at  the  end  of  all  there  could  be 
nothing  but  the  piteous,  inevitable  surrender,  the 
sacrifice  she  must  make  for  the  sake  of  Jack's 
mother. 

But  that  day  young  Sim  Cloyse  was  made  sud- 
denly busy  with  other  things.  For  in  the  night 
a  note,  in  Cunning  Murrell's  crabbed  little  writing, 
had  been  pushed  under  old  Sim  Cloyse's  door. 
It  told  that  respectable  tradesman  that  his  "  pro- 
perty" lay  now  wholly  at  his  disposal,  and  might 
be  removed  where  he  pleased  and  when  he  chose  ; 
with  a  hint  that  the  next  would  be  the  last 
wholly  moonless  night  of  the  month.  So  that 
the  morning  found  both  young  Sim  and  old  Sim 


MAN  THE  MASTER  257 

busy  and  ambulant  in  the  villages  a  little  way 
in  from  the  shore,  enlisting  and  giving  appoint- 
ment to  a  gang  of  men  who  were  willing  to 
sacrifice  a  night's  rest,  carry  tubs  without  un- 
necessary noise,  and  hold  their  tongues  about  it, 
for  very  excellent  pay  and  plenty  of  drink  at 
the  end  of  the  job.  And  Dorrily  was  left  un- 
molested. 

Roboshobery  Dove  was  much  exercised  in  mind, 
being  very  willing,  and  indeed  anxious,  to  find 
how  they  fared  at  the  black  cottage,  but  being 
in  just  as  much  restrained  by  a  reluctance  to  in- 
trude, a  reluctance  he  would  never  have  felt  in 
the  case  of  any  male  friend  whom  he  might  have 
helped.  Lingood,  too,  was  under  a  similar  con- 
straint, with  an  added  element  which  gave  his 
position  a  delicacy  only  palpable  to  his  instinct, 
and  never  clear  or  tangible  in  his  thoughts. 
Though  he  began  to  feel  that  plain  duty  de- 
manded an  inquiry  or  approach  of  some  sort. 
Dorcas  Brooker  had  done  what  she  could,  and 
Dorrily  had  been  grateful  to  her  ;  but  she  would  not 
keep  her  long.  So  this  morning  Roboshobery  Dove 
made  fidgety  reconnaisances  about  the  cottage, 
lurking  behind  fences  and  hedges  and  in  ditches — a 
wooden  leg  is  an  embarrassment  in  all  lurkings 
R 


258  CUNNING  MURRELL 

about  ditches — and  looking  from  afar  through  his 
telescope.  At  last,  as  he  took  one  such  peep, 
Dorrily  came  out,  and  turned  her  face  full  toward 
him.  It  was  so  pale,  so  drawn,  so  black  and 
haggard  about  the  eyes,  so  piteously  broken- 
spirited  in  expression,  that  the  old  man's  arms 
dropped  to  his  sides,  and  he  recoiled  as  if  from 
a  blow  between  the  eyes.  For  a  moment  he 
stood,  staring  at  the  distant  cottage,  in  whose 
garden  he  could  see  now  only  a  patch  of  print 
gown  where  Dorrily  stood,  and  then  he  shut  the 
telescope  and  hurried  off  to  Lingood's  forge. 

A  change  in  the  girl  he  had  looked  for,  natur- 
ally ;  but  this  was  so  great  that  it  seemed  to  him 
beyond  what  could  be  occasioned  by  the  grief  of 
bereavement,  however  sharp.  He  could  make  no 
better  guess  than  to  suppose  some  sort  of  priva- 
tion. "  Steve,"  he  said,  "  she  be  wasted  to  a  ghost. 
'Tis  like  as  not  they're  starvin'." 

Steve  Lingood  spent  no  more  time  in  fancies. 
He  dropped  his  hammer  and  washed  himself,  and 
in  ten  minutes  he  was  climbing  the  bank  to  the 
cottage,  alone ;  while  Roboshobery  awaited  him 
afar  off. 

Dorrily  Thorn,  put  in  fear  by  the  sound  of  a 
man's  footstep,  first  looked  from  the  window,  and 


MAN  THE  MASTER  259 

then  met  Lingood  at  the  door.  He,  too,  was 
shocked  to  see  the  girl  so  careworn  ;  but  he  went 
abruptly  to  the  business  in  hand, 

''If  I  could  ha'  sent  a  woman,"  he  said,  "I 
would.  But  I  couldn't,  an'  'tis  no  time  for  standin' 
off  You  be  in  sad  trouble — 'haps  worse  than  I 
guess — an'  I  'm  here  to  help  'ee,  to  my  last  kick, 
or  my  last  penny,  as 't  may  be.  Now  I  know 
you're  in  some  oather  trouble,  beside  what  I  know 
of.     Tell  me." 

He  spoke  sharply,  in  the  manner  of  a  man  who 
commands  and  insists,  and  the  fact  gave  Dorrily 
a  curious  relief,  such  as  no  gentle  expressions  of 
condolence  could  have  caused  ;  for  the  mere 
sound  of  command  seemed  to  lift  a  little  the 
weight  of  doubt  and  responsibility  that  was  be- 
yond her  strength.  She  felt  less  embarrassment 
in  telling  her  troubles  to  Lingood  than  might  be 
supposed,  because  she  had  always  looked  on  him 
as  something  of  an  elderly  man.  True,  he  was 
but  twenty-eight,  and  she  was  twenty ;  but  her 
habit  of  mind  dated  from  the  time  when  she  was 
thirteen  and  he  was  twenty-one,  big  and  tall,  and, 
in  her  childish  eyes,  a  man  within  view  of  middle 
age. 

"  Tell  me,"  demanded  Steve  Lingood. 


26o  CUNNING  MURRELL 

She  closed  the  door  behind  her  and  came  out 
into  the  garden,  in  a  part  removed  from  the  open 
bedroom  window.  "  She  's  upstairs,"  she  explained, 
"  and  talking  near  may  disturb  her." 

"Tell  me/'  the  smith  repeated.     "  Is't  money?  " 

Dorrily  shook  her  head.  "  No,  Master  Lingood," 
she  said,  mournfully  enough,  "'tis  not  money — at 
any  rate  for  the  present." 

"  Then  what  ?  " 

She  looked  up  at  his  face,  then  down  on  the 
ground,  and  at  last  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  bushes 
visible  to  the  side  of  him.  Somehow,  now,  it 
seemed  harder  to  talk  of  the  urgent,  the  pressing 
trouble  than  she  had  thought.  "  Poor  aunt,"  she 
said  at  length,  "  be  very  bad." 

"111?     Sick?" 

"Well  enough  in  health,  but  strange  in  the  head 
with  her  troubles,  an'  helpless  as  a  child.  An' 
then — Master  Lingood,  folk  be  so  cruel  to  us  ! " 

"  Damn  'em  !  "  Lingood  burst  out  with  a  stamp. 
"  What  ha'  they  done  ?  " 

"'Tis  not  that  they've  done  much  but  talk, 
though  that  be  bad  enough.  But  she  be  terrified 
they  might  swim  her — the  Leigh  chaps  have 
talked  of  it,  I  'm  told.  An' — O,  Master  Lingood, 
arl   sorrows  come  at  once !      'Tis  said  there   can 


MAN  THE  MASTER  261 

be  no  pension  for  her,  an'  Master  Cloyse  do  talk 
o'  pulHn'  down  the  cottage  an'  turnin'  her  out  with 
nowhere  to  go.  An'  arl  is  on  me,  Master  Lingood, 
an'  it  be  too  much  for  a  poor  girl ! " 

Lingood  clenched  his  jaw,  fidgeted  his  feet, 
shut  and  opened  his  fists.  The  strain  was  hard 
to  bear. 

"'Tis  arl  on  me,  Master  Lingood,  and  which 
way  to  turn  I  can't  tell,  an'  I  be  sick  an'  ill  with 
it.     An' — an'  there  be  only  one  way  I  can  see." 

"What  way?" 

Dorrily's  wan  cheeks  flushed.  "There  be  some- 
body wantin'  to  marry  me,"  she  said. 

Lingood  caught  a  quick  breath.  Then,  as  well 
as  something  in  his  throat  would  let  him,  he 
asked  :  "  What — now  ?     Since  .  .  .  ?  " 

Dorrily  nodded.  She  was  pale  again  now,  paler 
than  ever. 

Lingood  was  pale,  too,  though  she  did  not  look 
up  to  see  it.  "Well,"  he  said  slowly,  and  with 
some  touch  of  bitterness  in  his  voice;  "so  you 
think  that  be  the  way  then  ?     Maybe " 

She  lifted  her  eyes  with  so  much  in  them  of 
anguish  and  reproach  that  he  stopped.  "  O,  'tis 
terrible.  Master  Lingood,"  she  cried,  "an'  I  don't 
like  him  !     But  I  must  do 't,  mustn't  I  ?  " 


262  CUNNING  MURRELL 

Lingood  had  never  before  found  speech  so  hard 
and  so  slow.     "  I  don't  see,"  he  said.     "  Why  ?  " 

"What  can  I  do?  O,  Master  Lingood,  I  hate 
him  ;  but  'tis  keep  and  shelter  for  her,  an'  pro- 
tection, an'  'haps  then  his  father '11  let  her  stay 
here — at  least  till  she  mends — an' " 

"His  father?" 

Dorrily  nodded  quickly,  with  a  faint  and 
momentary  flush.  "  Tis  young  Sim  Cloyse,"  she 
said  quietly.  And  then,  a  little  at  a  time,  with 
the  fewer  tears  because  of  the  desperate  resigna- 
tion that  had  grown  upon  her,  she  told  the  story 
of  yesterday's  interview.  "'Tis  bad  for  me — 
bitter  bad.  Master  Lingood,"  she  concluded,  simply 
and  sadly;  "an'  I  sicken  to  think  of  it.  But  I 
must,  mustn't  I  ?" 

Lingood  could  bear  it  little  longer.  Heart 
and  brain  alike  seemed  bursting.     "  Den't  you — 

think "   he    gasped;    "Den't    you — think — o' 

friends — that  might  help  'ee  .?  " 

"  O,  Master  Lingood,  you  're  kind — kind  friends 
— you  an'  Master  Dove  ;  an'  the  chief  officer's  a 
good  gentleman  to  us.  But  what  can  'ee  do  more 
than  ye  have?  You  be  kind — over  kind;  but 
this — these  things  ye  can't  help;  'tis  for  me  only. 
An'  I  must,  Master  Lingood,  I  must !  " 


MAN  THE  MASTER  263 

"Ye  shan't!"  Lingood  burst  out,  for  he  could 
hold  it  no  more.  "  Ye  shan't !  I  won't  see 't — 
can't !  Dorrily  Thorn,  I  love  'ee  myself — God 
forgive  me  for  sayin'  it  at  such  a  time !  But 
true  'tis,  an'  now  you  know't.  Unnerstand  ! " — 
he  steadied  himself  sharply  before  the  wondering 
gaze  —  "unnerstand!  I'm  not  askin'  ye.  I 
wouldn't  treat  ye  so  at  this  time.  I  leave  that. 
But  the  other  you  shall  not  do — I  will  see  no 
such  evil  thing  !  " 

Dorrily  could  only  gaze  and  wonder.  But  her 
load  was  lightening — lightening  at  every  word. 
This  strong  man  was  taking  her  doubts  on  himself, 
and  resolving  them. 

"  Now,"  the  smith  went  on,  "  let  us  hev  no  mis- 
take. Young  Sim  Cloyse  hev  asked  you  to  marry 
him,  an'  you  hate  to  think  oft.  Now,  be  that 
the  full  truth,  an'  not  a  thote  kep'  back  ?  " 

It  was  an  injury  to  doubt  her,  and  the  tone 
of  her  answer  said  as  much. 

"An'  Mrs.  Martin  don't  know?" 

"  No — nothen.     I  doubt  if  she'd  understand." 

"Very  well.  I  will  take  your  answer  to  Sim 
Cloyse.     Unless  you  'd  rather  tell  him  yourself?" 

Dorrily  shook  her  head.  Truly  she  shrank  from 
another  experience  of  young  Sim's  courtship. 


264  CUNNING  MURRELL 

" 'Tis  settled,  then,  an'  I'll  see  you're  troubled 
no  more.  For  what  I  said  about  myself — 'tis  said 
now  an'  can't  be  unsaid,  though  'twas  forced  from 
me.  But  you  may  be  easy  as  to  that,  too ;  for 
never  again  will  I  speak  of  it,  unless  some  time, 
when  your  trouble  be  nothen  but  a  thing  re- 
membered, you  make  it  known  to  me  I  may : 
unless  you  wear  a  rose  in  your  hair  again,  as 
I  saw  you  last  year  at  Bennett's  harvestin'." 

She  stood  alone  in  the  garden,  and  Steve 
Lingood  was  tramping  up  the  lane.  It  seemed 
a  dream — a  dream  that  put  all  thought  to  rout, 
though  a  dream  that  had  its  under-mutter  of 
doubt  and  sorrow.  There  went  Stephen  Lingood, 
striding  up  the  lane,  till  the  steps  were  heard  no 
more;  and  here  stood  she  in  a  whirl  of  amaze, 
though  incongruously  calm — even  slow  of  under- 
standing. 

"  Dorrily  Thorn,  I  love  'ee  myself!  ...  A  rose 
— a  rose  in  your  hair  again."  .  .  . 


CHAPTER    XXII 


THE   BOTTLE   AGAIN 


ROBOSHOBERY  DOVE  learned  all  of 
Lingood's  talk  with  Dorrily  that  the 
smith  chose  to  tell  him,  and  was  disappointed  when 
it  turned  out  that  young  Sim  Cloyse  was  not  to 
be  found  that  day ;  for  he  had  hoped  for  a  little 
fun.  But  what  Lingood  told  him  of  Mrs.  Martin's 
state  resolved  him  to  make  occasion  to  speak  to 
Cunning  Murrell  again. 

Meanwhile,  Murrell  had  been  at  odds  with  his 
erudition.  The  return  and  aggravation  of  Em 
Banham's  trouble  had  perplexed  him :  to  say 
nothing  of  the  other  visitations  on  the  house  of 
Banham.  It  was  natural  to  suppose  that  Mrs. 
Martin  was  still  the  evil  influence,  though  by  all 
the  rules  of  his  art  her  power  over  Em  Banham,  at 
least,  should  have  been  dissipated  by  the  bursting 
of  the  witch-bottle. 

In   the   privacy  of  his  dwelling  he  gave  certain 


266  CUNNING  MURRELL 

hours  to  trials  and  inquisitions  of  divers  sorts. 
First  he  cast  a  horoscope.  He  took  a  sheet  of 
paper,  and  on  it  he  drew  a  figure  like  a  small  game 
of  hopscotch.  In  the  central  square  he  wrote  Em 
Banham's  name,  and  the  date  of  her  birth  ;  and 
then,  aided  by  a  dog's-eared  nautical  almanack,  he 
proceeded  to  bespeckle  the  outlying  lines  with 
figures  and  symbols,  till  the  whole  figure  was 
cast,  and  all  the  twelve  houses  of  the  heavens  were 
tenanted  in  the  fitting  manner.  This  done,  he 
made  a  column  of  notes,  with  similar  symbols, 
beneath ;  and  scratched  his  head  vehemently. 

After  some  minutes  he  began  another  horoscope, 
this  time  writing  in  the  middle  the  date  of  Em 
Banham's  first  seizure ;  and,  completing  the 
illumination  in  the  same  manner  as  the  first,  fell  to 
scratching  his  head  again.  Then  he  made  a  third, 
with  the  date  of  the  affliction  of  Banham's  horse  as 
the  central  fact.  If  he  had  not  been  ignorant  of 
the  old  sow's  birthday  he  might  have  added  a 
fourth. 

Cunning  Murrell  frowned,  and  gnawed  the 
feather  end  of  his  pen.  Then  he  took  another 
sheet  of  paper,  and  began  a  trial  by  geomancy. 
He  screwed  up  his  eyes,  and  made  many  rows  of 
strokes.     Then  he  counted  the  strokes,  and  placed 


THE  BOTTLE  AGAIN  267 

opposite  the  end  of  each  row  one  or  two  noughts, 
till  the  noughts  could  be  separated  into  four  sym- 
metrical figures.  Counting  this  way  and  that 
among  the  noughts,  he  built  up  other  similar 
groups,  till  at  last  there  were  fifteen,  the  final  three 
being  placed  apart,  as  judge,  right  witness,  and  left 
witness.  Then  nothing  remained  but  to  pull  out  a 
little  manuscript  book  from  the  drawer,  look  out  in 
its  pages  the  evidence  of  the  witnesses  and  the 
decision  of  the  judge,  fall  again  to  scratching  the 
head,  and  begin  a  fresh  sheet  of  paper  with  a  new 
row  of  strokes. 

In  a  little  while  half  a  dozen  groups  of  judges 
and  witnesses  littered  the  table,  and  Cunning 
Murrell  glared  blankly  from  one  to  another.  He 
had  never  devoted  so  many  tests  to  one  matter 
before,  nor  found  a  case  quite  so  perplexing.  He 
reached  a  Bible  from  a  shelf,  plunged  his  finger 
between  the  leaves  at  random,  stared  at  the  text 
next  the  finger,  and  tried  again.  And  finished  up 
with  another  horoscope,  with  Mrs.  Martin's  name 
in  the  middle,  and  the  date  and  place  of  her  birth 
turned  out  from  among  the  heap  of  notes  wherein 
he  had  noted  every  birthday  he  could  hear  of  since 
first  he  was  an  adept. 

Cunning  Murrell    got  on    his   feet   and    walked 


268  CUNNING  MURRELL 

about  the  little  room,  twining  his  fingers  in  his 
white  hair ;  and  when  he  encountered  his  chair 
on  the  way  he  kicked  it  over,  and  saluted  Ann 
Pett,  who  peeped  in  because  of  the  noise,  with 
angry  objurgation.  For  it  was  the  amazing  fact 
that  not  one  of  his  subtle  operations  produced  a 
result  in  any  way  concordant  with  the  triumphant 
issue  of  the  bottle-bursting  experiment.  More, 
they  disagreed  among  themselves  in  a  most 
irregular  manner.  Plainly  some  disturbing  ele- 
ment must  be  at  work  ;  and  since  he  was  wholly 
unaided,  and  the  sciences  were  infallible,  the  dis- 
turbing element  must  be  at  work  on  himself.  It 
was  his  faith  that  none  but  a  man  of  guiltless  life 
might  practise  his  arts  with  effect ;  and  he  won- 
dered what  lapse  he  had  made  that  should  place 
him,  the  devil's  master,  within  reach  of  evil  in- 
fluence ;  till  after  reflection  he  felt  some  doubt  of 
the  strict  morality  of  smuggling. 

But  he  devoted  himself  with  the  more  care  to 
preparations  for  the  proper  use  of  the  second 
bottle.  This,  at  any  rate,  should  operate  so  as  to 
leave  no  doubt,  and  at  the  least  to  break  the  evil 
spell  that  hung  over  the  Banhams.  He  chose  the 
bottle  with  care  from  the  three  that  Lingood  had 
made,   and    purified    it    with    many   washings   in 


THE  BOTTLE  AGAIN  269 

curious  liquids,  and  last  by  fire ;  having  written 
the  conjuration  for  the  day  on  paper,  and  inserted 
it  so  that  it  might  be  consumed  in  the  interior 
He  scratched  pentacles  and  other  signs  on  it — all 
strictly  according  to  day  and  hour — with  a  steel 
point.  And  everything  his  arts  suggested  having 
been  done,  he  carried  the  bottle  to  Banham's,  with 
his  frail  and  his  herbs. 

The  evening  was  dark.  It  was,  as  Murrell  had 
reminded  Cloyse,  a  moonless  night,  though  stars 
were  many  and  bright.  The  village  was  very  quiet, 
for  almost  everybody  was  already  long  in  bed.  But 
the  Banhams  were  waiting  anxiously  in  the  muddled 
keeping-room,  just  as  they  had  been  waiting  for 
the  other  trial  a  few  weeks  back ;  and  the  crowd  of 
little  Banhams  pushed  and  contended  on  the  stairs. 

Preparations  were  made  as  before,  even  so  far  as 
the  driving  upstairs  of  the  little  Banhams,  and  the 
shutting  of  the  stair-foot  door  on  them.  But  in 
the  kitchen  Murrell  shut  himself  alone  for  a  few 
minutes,  with  the  pins  and  needles  and  the  finger 
nails  and  the  rest.  For  with  them  also  he  had 
resolved  to  take  uncommon  precautions. 

"  Now,  neighbours,"  said  Murrell,  as  he  emerged 
from  the  kitchen,  screwing  down  the  stopper, 
"to-night  I   make  strong  war  on  the  evil   powers 


270  CUNNING  MURRELL 

that  do  oppress  this  house,  and  more  particular 
your  darter.  Well  will  yow  remember  that  I  did 
it  before,  though  the  relief,  by  a  strange  happenin', 
did  not  last  as  it  should.  That  do  but  prove  how 
mighty  and  powerful  were  the  spells  agen  yow. 
This  time  I  hev  made  such  preparations  as  nothen 
can  withstand.  I  hev  never  before  made  so  sarten 
and  so  sure  with  every  conjuration  an'  word  o' 
power  known  to  my  strong  an'  lawful  arts.  We  go 
now  to  the  bake-hus  agen,  an'  once  more  I  tell  'ee 
there  mus'  be  no  word  spoke.  Agen  I  tell  'ee, 
the  sore  pain  an'  anguish  that  will  be  putt 
upon  the  hellish  witch  may  draw  that  witch  in 
agony  unto  us.  If  she  doan't  come,  an'  'tis  common 
they  doan't,  the  greater  will  be  the  pain  an' 
the  anguish ;  but  if  she  do,  as  well  she  may,  so 
powerful  as  be  my  spells,  agen  I  tell  'ee,  not  a 
word.  No  matter  which  she  may  speak  to  or  what 
she  may  say  to  cause  the  spell  to  break,  not  one 
mus'  answer,  or  her  punishment  stops  that  instant. 
Joseph  Banham,  bring  yow  the  candle." 

Em,  who  to-day  had  been  chiefly  drowsy  and 
peevish,  now  broke  out :  "  Mother,  I  woan't  be 
near  the  bake-hus  door,  for  I'll  be  deadly  feared 
when  Mrs.  Mart'n  do  come  in.  I  woan't  go  unless 
yow  arl  do  sit  atween  !     I  woan't !  " 


THE  BOTTLE  AGAIN  271 

"  'Tis  arl  right,  deary,"  her  mother  answered, 
coaxing  her.  "  Us  will  arl  go  atween  if  yow  want. 
She  den't  hurt  ye  before,  an'  'tis  sarten  she  cain't 
now.  Come  then,  an'  us  '11  soon  see  ye  cured  for 
good." 

Em  rose  with  a  sulky  shake,  and  the  party  turned 
to  the  back  door.  "  Now,"  said  Murrell,  with  his 
hand  on  the  latch,  "  not  anoather  word. ' 

They  passed  out  in  procession,  Murrell,  Mrs. 
Banham,  Em,  Mag,  Dick,  and  last,  and  least  in 
importance,  except  for  the  rushlight  he  carried, 
Banham  himself.  Once  they  were  clear,  the  stair- 
foot  door  opened,  and  all  the  little  Banhams  came 
down  into  the  keeping-room  and  the  kitchen  to 
listen.     Though  they  dared  go  no  farther. 

The  bake-house  was  warm,  and  the  fire  glowed. 
Murrell  motioned  the  party  to  their  places,  sending 
Em  and  her  mother  to  the  far  side,  away  from  the 
entry,  and  keeping  the  rest,  as  well  as  possible, 
from  the  direct  front  of  the  oven  door.  This 
settled,  he  raked  the  fire,  and  flung  on  more  wood. 
And  when  the  flames  rose  and  sang  aloud,  he  flung 
in  the  bottle,  shut  the  latch,  and  crouched  with  the 
others. 

For  a  while  there  was  gaping  silence,  and  six 


272  CUNNING  MURRELL 

staring  faces  distorted  with  shadow.  Breaths  were 
held,  and  every  eye  was  fixed  on  the  oven  door. 
Then  there  arose  within  the  fire  the  faint  singing 
noise  that  they  had  heard  before — the  sound  that 
had  then  told  Steve  Lingood  of  a  tiny  vent  at  the 
stopper  of  the  bottle.  But  this  time  the  smith  had 
taken  good  care  that  the  vent  should  be  there,  and 
that  it  should  be  a  vent  sufficient  to  make  a  serious 
explosion  unlikely.  So  that  now  the  singing  noise 
grew  louder  as  they  waited,  and  still  louder. 

Every  ear  was  strained  to  catch  any  new  sound, 
but  for  a  while  there  was  nowhere  anything  but  the 
loud  whistle  from  the  bottle  ;  and  they  waited  still. 
Then,  sharp  and  clear,  came  the  click  of  the  gate 
without,  just  as  it  had  done  before  ;  and  straight- 
way every  staring  face  turned  to  its  neighbour,  and 
Em  caught  fast  hold  of  her  mother. 

The  gate  slammed  to  ;  and  then  came  the  foot- 
falls. For  a  moment  they  stopped,  near  the  front 
of  the  house ;  and  then  they  were  heard  again, 
nearer,  and  growing  louder  as  they  came.  .  .  . 
Slowly  nearer,  and  gradually  louder,  till  they 
stopped  at  the  bakehouse  door ;  and  the  latch  rose 
with  a  sudden  click  that  sent  up  each  heart  with 
a  jump. 

Every  eye  was  on  the  door,  and  Em  trembled. 


THE  BOTTLE  AGAIN  273 

gripping  her  mother  with  all  her  strength.  Cunning 
Murrell  raised  his  hand  to  keep  the  silence  un- 
broken, and  turned  as  the  door  opened.  There  on 
the  threshold  stood  a  thin,  worn,  rusty  woman. 
She  put  her  pale  face  forward,  and  looked  about 
the  bakehouse.     And  she  was  Ann  Pett. 

"  Yow  be  wanted,"  said  Ann  Pett  to  her  father. 
"  Can  yow  come  ?  " 

Cunning  Murrell  had  been  stooping,  but  now  he 
went  backward  and  sat,  his  back  against  the  brick 
pier  of  the  oven,  and  his  face  a  blanker  figure  of 
amazement  than  any  other  in  that  place.  The 
Banhams  squeezed  their  lips  together,  and  bulged 
their  eyes  like  hobgoblins.  Mrs.  Banham  clapped 
her  hand  to  Em's  mouth. 

"  Yow  be  wanted,  I  say,"  repeated  Ann  Pett. 

A  flush  of  rage  crossed  Mnrrell's  face.  "  Ann 
Pett !  "  he  screamed,  "  what  ha'  yow  been  at  ?  " 

Ann  Pett  was  all  vacant  incomprehension,  but  a 
sense  of  injustice  stirred  Banham  to  unwonted 
ire.  "Yow've  stopped  her  punishment !"  he  cried 
indignantly,  pointing  with  his  finger  in  Murrell's 
face.  "  I  woan't  pay  a  farden !  'Taren't  fair, 
Master  Murr'll !  Yow  've  bruck  the  spell  'cause  she 
be  your  darter  !  " 

Cunning   Murrell  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  seized 
S 


274  CUNNING  MURRELL 

Ann  Pett  by  the  wrist.  "  What  ha'  ye  been  at, 
woman  ?  "  he  screamed  again. 

An  angry  clamour  filled  the  bakehouse,  and  Em 
set  up  a  run  of  horrible  shrieks.  And  in  the 
midst  of  it  all  the  bottle  burst. 

It  was  not  a  great  explosion,  this  time,  and  it  did 
not  blow  off  the  oven  door.  The  whistle  ended 
with  a  loud  thud,  and  dust,  smoke,  and  a  great 
stink  burst  out  at  the  cracks.  But  it  checked  the 
hubbub  for  a  moment,  and  while  attention  was 
siven  to  the  oven  Murrell  was  gone. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

A  FAULT  PURGED 

CUNNING  MURRELL  dragged  the  un- 
happy Ann  Pett  home,  gripping  her  by 
the  wrist,  and  hissing  fierce  reproach  as  he  went. 
She,  terrified  and  bewildered,  could  but  gasp  and 
protest  incoherently.  He  pushed  her  through  the 
cottage  door,  shut  and  buttoned  it  behind  him,  and 
flung  her  down  before  him. 

"  Down,  woman,  on  your  knees  !  "  he  cried,  "  an' 
confess  what  devil's  work  yow  ha'  been  at !  Yow, 
my  own  child,  of  arl  the  world  !  What  ha'  ye 
done,  witch  ?  " 

"  I  den't — I  ben't — I  toad  yow.  .  .  .  Let  my 
arm  alowan  ! " 

"  What  ha'  ye  done  ?  " 

"  I  tell  'ee  yow  be  wanted — Master  Dove — he 
kim  here — yow '11  break  my  arm  !  " 

"  Master  Dove?     Where  be  Master  Dove?  " 

"  O,  I  dunno  !    He  kim  here— let  go  my  arm,  do 


276  CUNNING  MURRELL 

'ee ! — he  kim  here  an'  arksed  for  'ee.  An'  he  said 
he  'd  be  back  agen,  an'  would  I  find  an'  tell  'ee. 
An'  I  goed  to  Banham's,  an'  young  Bobby  toad 
me  you  were  in  the  bake-hus.  An'  yow  '11  break 
my  arm,  I  tell  'ee  !  " 

Murrell  let  the  wrist  drop,  and  glared  at  her, 
hard  and  gloomy.  "  Things  hev  been  wrong  with 
me  o'  late,"  he  said,  "an'  my  curis  arts  an'  calc'la- 
tions  hev  failed  o'  their  end  ;  'twere  plain  to  me 
that  some  evil  influence  were  near — I  den't  judge 
it  so  near  as  my  own  darter.  If  yow  hev  meddled 
in  devilish  things,  'twere  a  sorrow  to  yow  that  ever 
yow  were  born  !  Darter  or  not,  there  shall  be  no 
mercy  for  'ee  !  " 

"  I  ha'n't  done  nothen  !  I  be  innocent  as — as — 
as  that !  "  Ann  Pett  protested  tearfully,  pointing  at 
the  nearest  article  of  furniture,  which  was  the  big 
chest  of  books  and  papers. 

"  That  I  will  try,  Ann  Pett,"  said  Murrell  sternly. 
"  Give  of  your  hair  !  " 

He  seized  the  miserable  wisp  of  mouse-grey 
hair  that  was  twisted  in  a  small  knot  behind  her 
head,  pulled  it  loose,  and  snipped  off  a  lock  with 
scissors  from  the  mantelpiece.  This  done,  he 
singed  some  of  the  hair  at  the  candle-flame,  and 
put  it,  with  the  rest,  into  a  shallow  pot  with  water. 


A  FAULT  PURGED  277 

For  some  little  while  he  watched  it.  Then  he 
turned  and  said  :  "  The  hair  trial  do  favour  vow, 
an'  at  anoather  time  I  would  carl 't  enough.  But 
I  must  try  yow  further.  Can  'ee  say  the  Lord's 
Prayer?     Keep  'ee  kneelin'." 

By  this  time  a  little  recovered,  though  agitated 
still,  Ann  Pett  managed  to  repeat  the  whole  prayer 
without  omission,  a  feat  notoriously  impossible  for 
any  witch  ;  and  Murrell  was  in  some  way  appeased. 
He  made  still  another  test,  however,  in  which  a 
bible  took  part ;  and  then  told  his  daughter  to  get 
off  her  knees. 

'"Tis  plain,"  he  said,  more  mildly,  "that  the 
fault  be  not  with  yow.  But  it  stand  plainer  than 
ever  that  there  be  a  fault,  an'  I  fear  'tis  my  own. 
I  have  siled  my  hands  with  a  matter  o'  low 
honour,  or  no  honour  at  arl,  an'  my  virtue  be  gone 
out  o'  me  till  I  mend  it.  Ann  Pett !  Come  yow 
now  an'  help  me  !  " 

He  rose  and  opened  the  door.  Without  all  was 
dark  and  silent,  and,  after  a  look  each  way,  he 
returned  and  seized  a  tub  where  it  was  hidden 
behind  bunches  of  herbs.  "Take  yow  anoather," 
he  commanded  Ann  Pett,  "an'  bring 't  after  me 
to  the  stile." 

He   carried    the    tub   before    him,    hooking    his 


2/8  CUNNING  MURRELL 

fingers  at  each  end.  Carried  thus  it  was  no  slight 
load  for  a  man  of  his  smallness  and  age,  and  it 
impeded  his  legs.  But  he  reached  the  stile  quickly 
enough,  set  the  tub  on  the  upper  step  on  the 
farther  side,  climbed  over,  and  put  it  in  the  ditch. 
Then  he  took  the  second  tub  that  Ann  Pett  had 
brought  after  him,  and  bestowed  that  with  the  first ; 
and  so  began  the  purification  of  his  house. 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

IN  THE  queen's  NAME 

THE  day  passed  quietly  with  Dorrily  Thorn 
after  Lingood  had  gone,  and  Mrs.  Martin, 
much  the  better  for  resting  in  her  bed,  was  so 
tranquil  and  so  reasonable  that  her  outburst  of  the 
night  would  almost  seem  to  have  been  nothing  but 
an  impossible  nightmare.  And  at  dark  she  went 
to  bed  quietly  again,  and  slept  soundly. 

Dorrily  also  slept,  though  uneasily,  and  with  an 
apprehension  of  being  awakened  again.  And,  in- 
deed, she  was  awakened,  though  not  in  the  same 
way  as  before.  She  grew  vaguely  aware  that  the 
place  beside  her  was  vacant,  and  sitting  up,  she 
saw  her  aunt  at  the  window,  of  which  the  casement 
stood  wide  open.  Dorrily  slipped  out  of  bed  and 
came  to  her  aunt's  side. 

"  Hush  !  "  The  woman  raised  her  hand  and 
whispered.  "  Look  over  the  lane,  Dorry,  to  the 
hollow  behind  Castle  Hill.     D'  ye  see  'em  ?  " 

279 


28o  CUNNING  MURRELL 

It  was  a  dark  night,  and  at  first  Dorrily  was 
disposed  to  suspect  some  delusion.  But  she 
looked  intently,  and  presently  could  distinctly 
make  out  a  group  of  men — perhaps  half  a  dozen — 
very  quiet,  and,  it  would  seem,  waiting.  As  she 
looked  she  saw  another  shadowy  figure  join  them 
from  the  rising  meadow  beyond,  and  there  was 
still  another  coming.  And  now — for  there  was  no 
wind — she  could  just  catch  the  mutter  of  quiet  talk 
among  them. 

The  village  was  deep  in  sleep  long  ago.  Why 
should  these  men  collect  just  here  at  this  time  of 
night  ?  For  a  moment  a  vague  fear  seized  Dorrily 
that  perhaps  they  were  come  to  maltreat  the  poor 
woman  by  her  side. 

"  See  'em  ?  "  Sarah  Martin  whispered  in  her  ear, 
"  What  be  they  chaps  out  for  at  this  bull's-noon 
time  ?     'Tis  for  no  good,  I  count." 

They  watched  a  few  seconds  more,  and  saw 
another  man  come  over  the  meadow.  Then  Mrs. 
Martin  rose  to  her  feet. 

"  I  be  going  out,"  she  said,  "  by  the  back."  And 
she  began  to  hurry  on  some  of  her  clothes. 

Whether  or  not  to  restrain  her  Dorrily  hardly 
knew.     "  Goin'  where  ?  "  she  whispered. 

"  Goin'  to  the  euard.      Whatever  it  be  'tis  well 


IN  THE  QUEEN'S  NAME  281 

they  should  know."  Sarah  Martin  spoke  calmly 
and  rationally,  and  with  a  clearer  note  of  intelli- 
gence than  Dorrily  had  heard  in  her  voice  for 
weeks.  She,  too,  began  to  dress.  At  any  rate 
she  must  not  let  her  aunt  go  out  alone.  And  after 
all  if  this  were  a  hostile  crowd  nothing  nearer  than 
the  guard  could  save  them. 

It  was  but  a  matter  of  seconds  to  clothe  them- 
selves sufficiently  for  the  needs  of  the  warm 
summer  night,  and  soon  the  back  door  was  shut 
quietly  behind  them.  Mrs.  Martin  led  with  a 
silence  and  a  discretion  that  surprised  Dorrily, 
used  of  late  to  nurse  and  humour  her  aunt  almost 
as  she  would  a  child.  She  picked  a  way  that  was 
everywhere  invisible  from  the  lane,  skirted  the  hills 
among  she  broken  coppice,  and  only  came  into 
the  open  beyond  sight  of  the  lane  end  among  the 
broken  foot-hills. 

Hadleigh  Castle  stood  high  on  the  left,  each 
tower  a  mere  black  bulk  among  the  stars  ;  and 
soon  it  was  behind  them.  Sarah  Martin  knew  the 
patrols  of  old,  and  was  making  for  the  nearest 
man,  and  at  such  a  swift  walk  that  Dorrily  had 
a  difficulty  in  keeping  near  her.  Once  she  stopped 
and  listened,  and  though  to  Dorrily  the  night  seemed 
void    of  human    sound,    her    aunt    whispered    that 


282  CUNNING  MURRELL 

she  could  hear  the  footsteps  of  more  than  one  man, 
and  that  it  meant  that  the  chief  officer  was  visiting 
guard. 

They  hurried  on  breathlessly.  It  was  long  since 
Sarah  Martin  had  had  occasion  to  traverse  these 
parts,  even  by  day,  yet  she  took  her  way  among 
quags  and  hillocks  without  a  mistake,  and  without 
a  pause  to  look  for  the  way.  Presently  they  came 
on  a  made  path,  raised  a  little  from  the  marsh, 
and  here  they  stayed  again  to  listen.  The  sound 
of  steps  was  distinct  and  near  now,  and  Mrs. 
Martin  ran  along  the  path,  calling  aloud  :  "  Guard  ! 
guard  ! "  with  Dorrily  at  her  heels. 

"  Here !  "  cried  the  man,  coming  to  meet  them. 
"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Hev  the  chief  officer  been  here  ?  " 

"  Why,  'tis  Mrs.  Martin  !  "  the  man  said,  peering 
into  her  face.  "  Ay,  the  chief  hev  just  left.  Gone 
Leigh  way.     D'  ye  want  him  ?  " 

"  Ay,  quick,  an'  no  time  to  waste.     Carl  him." 

The  coastguardsman  blew  two  low  notes  on  his 
whistle,  and  began  walking  sharply  along  the  path, 
the  women  keeping  by  his  side.  Soon  the  chief 
officer  was  heard  returning,  and  a  man  with  him. 

"Well,  well?"  said  the  officer  sharply,  "what  now?" 

"There  be  a  gang  o'  men  gatherin',  sir,  at  back 


IN  THE  QUEEN'S  NAME  283 

o'  Castle  Hill,"  said  Mrs.  Martin.  "  What  they  be 
arter  I  ben't  sure  of,  but  I  should  guess  it  be  a  run. 
I  doan't  think  it  be  to  hurt  me  this  time,  nor  my 
niece.  But  there  be  the  men,  sir,  an'  'tis  right  yovv 
should  know." 

"  How  many  ?  " 

"  Eight  or  nine,  an'  more  comin'.  Very  quiet 
arl  of  'em,  an'  waitin',  seemin'ly,  when  we  left." 

"  Come,"  said  the  officer,  "  quick,  the  two  of  you  ! 
And  no  row,  mind  !  " 

"  Shall  I  burn  a  flare,  sir  ?  "  one  man  asked. 

"  Burn  your  fat  head  !  "  snapped  the  one-eyed 
chief  officer.  "  Up  on  the  hill,  perhaps.  What 's 
the  good  of  a  flare  down  here,  except  to  scare  them 
off?  Get  ahead,  you  skrimshanked  barbers,  and 
shut  your  jaw  !  " 

They  were  hurrying  back  by  the  way  the  women 
had  come,  and  Mrs.  Martin  was  keeping  near  them, 
with  Dorrily  following  as  best  she  might.  A  large 
run  of  smuggled  goods  had  not  been  known  in 
these  parts  for  years  ;  but  the  chief  officer  knew 
that  Mrs.  Martin  had  seen  more  of  coastguard  work 
than  most  coastguardsmen — certainly  more  than 
any  of  them  he  had  command  of  now.  And,  as  he 
reasoned,  a  silent  gang  of  men  did  not  assemble 
near  the  coast  at  midnight  to  play  at  marbles. 


CHAPTER    XXV 


A  WAKEFUL  NIGHT 


NOW  Roboshobery  Dove,  when  he  had  been 
told  that  Murrell  was  out,  but  expected 
back,  had  promised  to  come  again.  He  had  gone 
back  to  the  Castle  Inn,  but  found  it  closed  for 
the  night.  So  he  kept  on  his  way  through  the 
village  to  his  own  house.  Here  he  thought  to  fill 
an  interval  with  a  pipe  and  a  glass  ;  which  indul- 
gences, with  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  caused  him 
to  fall  asleep  in  his  chair.  He  never  knew  pre- 
cisely how  long  he  slept,  but  when  he  woke  his 
long  clay  pipe  was  lying  on  the  floor  in  five  pieces, 
and  the  candle  was  smoking  and  spluttering  in  its 
socket. 

He  rose  hastily,  took  his  hard  glazed  hat,  and 
went  out.  Plainly  it  was  very  late,  but  he  had 
promised  to  call  again,  and  perhaps  Cunning 
Murrell,  night-bird  as  he  was,  was  waiting  for  him. 
So  Roboshobery  Dove  hastened  by  what  he  judged 


284 


A  WAKEFUL  NIGHT  285 

a  short  cut.  That  is  to  say,  instead  of  going  by 
the  village  street — wherein,  indeed,  he  feared  the 
familiar  sound  of  his  wooden  leg  at  that  hour 
might  raise  gossip — he  took  the  paths  that  led 
behind  the  gardens. 

The  ways  were  narrow  and  crooked,  and  they 
made  amazing  quirks  and  circuits  round  hoppits, 
by  pigsties,  and  behind  cowhouses.  But  Robo- 
shobery  Dove  could  have  found  his  way  blind- 
fold, and  he  went  over  the  soft  ashes  that  made 
the  surface  without  conscious  thought  of  a  turn 
or  an  angle  ;  and  at  last  emerged  in  the  lane  a  little 
below  the  cottages  and  almost  opposite  the  stile. 

He  heard  a  step,  which  stopped  suddenly ;  and 
peering  through  the  dark  he  perceived  the  form 
of  Murrell,  and  behind  him,  more  distinct,  that  of 
Ann  Pett  in  her  print  gown.  Murrell  saw  Dove 
too,  but  it  was  too  late.  He  had  had  in  mind  that 
the  old  sailor  was  to  return,  and  had  kept  open 
eyes  and  ears  for  him,  carefully  peeping  before 
venturing  out  with  a  tub,  and  listening  for  his  step 
in  the  village  street.  But  as  time  went  on,  and 
as  the  tubs,  two  at  a  time,  made  a  higher  and 
higher  pile  in  the  ditch,  Murrell  grew  easier, 
supposing  that  Dove  must  have  postponed  his 
visit  till  to-morrow. 


286  CUNNING  MURRELL 

And  now,  when  the  house  was  rid  of  almost  all 
the  smuggled  liquor,  on  a  sudden  Roboshobery 
Dove  came  silently  from  the  direction  opposite 
that  he  might  be  expected  by,  and  almost  ran  into 
him  as  he  carried  one  of  the  barrels.  For  a  moment 
Murrell  thought  of  turning  back  ;  but  it  was  too  far, 
and  with  the  tub  he  could  not  run.  He  stopped, 
and  Roboshobery  Dove  came  up. 

"  Good  evenin'.  Master  Murr'll,  sir,"  said  Robosh- 
obery. "  'Tis  wonnerful  late  for  a  wisit,  but — hullo  ! 
Axcuse  me,  but  .  .  .  Why  'tis  ! "  He  dropped  his 
voice  suddenly.  .  .  .  "'Tis  a  tub!     Well  I'm " 

For  once  Cunning  Murrell  had  not  a  word  to  say. 
He  took  a  step  forward,  and  another  step  back, 
hugging  the  unlucky  tub  before  him  in  the  manner 
of  a  muff.  Roboshobery  Dove,  who  had  bent  to 
inspect  it,  rose  erect  with  many  chuckles.  "  Well, 
there!"  he  said.  "To  think  oft!"  and  he  chuckled 
again.  "  Well,  I  den't  think — why  bless  'ee,  Master 
Murr'll,  sir,  this  ben't  one  o'  the  things  yow  was 
'feared  o'  breakin'  t'other  night,  be  't  ?  In  the  frail 
basket,  hey  ?  Ha  !  ha  !  But  'tis  arl  right — yow 
den't  need  to  be  gastered.  'Tis  many  a  hundred 
sich  I  've  had  in  my  time,  sarten  to  say.  Come, 
I  '11  give  'ee  a  hand.  Lord  love  'ee,  I  den't  think 
ever  to  handle  one  agen,  that  I  den't,  barrin'  one 


A  WAKEFUL  NIGHT  287 

or  two  o'  my  own,  kep'  snug.  An'  was  onny  sayin' 
a  while  ago  how  easy  a  run  would  be  now — but  I 
den't  think  'twould  be  yow  as  would  make  't,  that 
I  den't !  Ha  !  ha  !  Come,  give  us  a  hoad.  Where 
are  ye  puttin'  em  ?     Fetch  anoather." 

"Master  Dove,"  protested  Murrell,  with  such 
dignity  as  was  consistent  with  hanging  to  the 
tub,  which  Roboshobery  had  seized.  "Yow  be 
mistaken.  I  be  no  smuggler,  though  't  may  seem 
so.  This  liquor  ben't  mine — none  of  it,  not  now — 
an'  I  repent  ever  touchin'  it.  I  am  but  puttin'  it 
out  o'  my  house,  where  't  should  never  hev  come. 
Touchin'  pitch  I  hev  been  defiled,  an'  my  lawful 
arts  hev  been  undone." 

"Well,"  said  Dove,  who  was  by  no  means  con- 
vinced, "  I  dunno  'bout  arl  that ;  an'  as  to  pitch, 
'tis  a  useful  'nough  thing  in  its  place,  though  I  'd 
rayther  hev  a  barr'l  o'  this  stuff  jus'  now.  I  onny 
offered  to  give  y'  a  hand." 

Since  Dove  would  not  go  he  might  well  help  to 
shorten  the  job.  "  There  are  but  fower  or  five  left 
now,"  Murrell  answered,  "  an'  if  yow  '11  go  back  with 
Ann  Pett  you  can  help  bring  'em,  an'  thank'ee 
kindly.     I  '11  stow  these." 

So  Dove  went  toward  the  cottage  with  the  woman, 
and  Murrell  added  the  two  tubs  to  the  pile. 


288  CUNNING  MURRELL 

The  cunning  man  found  Dove's  presence  doubly 
awkward,  for  there  might  be  other  visitors,  though 
he  did  not  expect  them  just  yet.  Golden  Adams 
had  been  mightily  tickled  by  Murrell's  arrange- 
ments for  doing  justice  between  old  Sim  Cloyse 
and  himself,  and  had  sworn  not  to  deny  himself  the 
pleasure  of  witnessing  their  working  out ;  though 
he  had  promised  the  cunning  man  that  the  pistols 
should  not  go  with  him.  He  was  to  observe 
Cloyse's  doings  from  a  place  of  concealment,  and 
he  might,  if  he  pleased,  follow  him,  when,  as  was  re- 
garded certain,  he  would  come  to  knock  up  Murrell 
and  report  that  forty  of  the  tubs  were  missing. 

Roboshobery  Dove  stumped  out  sturdily  with  a 
tub  on  each  shoulder,  and  Ann  Pett  behind  him  ; 
and  with  one  more  journey  to  the  cottage  brought 
out  the  last  two. 

"That  be  arl,  so  your  darter  tell  me,"  Robosh- 
obery remarked,  leaning  on  the  stile.  "  But  that 
be  a  queer  place  to  putt  'em  ! " 

"  I  care  not  where  they  go,  Master  Dove,"  Murrell 
replied,  with  something  of  his  common  self-posses- 
sion ;  for  he  was  relieved  at  seeing  the  job  done. 
"  I  care  not  where  they  go,  so  as  they  go  out  o' 
my  house.  I  might  ha'  putt  'em  in  the  hoss-road 
or   let   the   officers   take  'em,  'stead   o'  toilin'  an' 


A  WAKEFUL  NIGHT  289 

draggin'   to   putt  'cm    behind   a   hedge  in   a    field 
nobody  goes  near." 

"'Tis  a  quiet  field  enough,"  replied  Dove,  to 
whom  the  whole  proceeding  was  incomprehensible ; 
"  but  why  putt  'em  in  a  field  at  arl  ?  " 

"  Master  Dove,  I  hev  told  yow,  though  in  your 
way  o'  thinkin'  yow  may  not  see 't.  I  hev  siled  my 
hands  with  an  evil  traffic,  and  now  that  I  see  my 
hainish  error  I  wash  my  hands  of  it,  an'  I  putt  the 
thing  from  me."  Cunning  Murrell  turned  toward 
his  cottage.  "  Come  away,  Master  Dove,  from  the 
place,"  he  said,  "  an'  if  yow  hev  aught  to  say  to  me, 
say 't  quickly,  for  'tis  late ;  or,  better  still,  leave  it 
till  to-morrow." 

"  Why,  Master  Murr'll,  sir,"  Dove  answered,  walk- 
ing at  his  side,  "what  I  did  hev  in  my  mind  was  to 
speak  agen  to  yow  o'  Mrs.  Martin  an'  her  niece." 

"  An'  what  o'  them  ? "  Murrell's  face  was  in- 
visible in  the  dusk,  or  Roboshobery  Dove  would 
have  seen  that  he  frowned  and  screwed  his  lips. 
The  evening's  adventures  had  made  him  touchy. 

"  Why,  they  be  in  very  bad  trouble,  as  yow  know, 
an'  I  thought  to  ask  if  yow  'd  made  such  trial  as 
yow  spoke  of,  arl  by  yourself,  without  any  oathcr 
party's  partic'lars." 

Cunning  Murrell  was  in   an  unaccustomed  and 
T 


290  CUNNING  MURRELL 

unpleasant  position.  He  could  not  afford  to  be 
angry,  for  Roboshobery  Dove  was  witness  to  his 
connection  with  the  smuggled  tubs,  and  in  that 
respect  might  be  as  dangerous  as  if  they  still  lay 
concealed  in  his  cottage.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
story  of  the  burning  of  the  witch-bottle  at  Banham's 
would  be  all  over  the  village  in  the  morning,  and  it 
were  useless  to  attempt  to  conceal  it.  He  saw  that 
he  must  make  some  concession  if  he  were  to  save  his 
dignity  at  all.     So  he  answered  :  "  Yes,  I  hev." 

"Ah  !  "  said  Dove,  eagerly,  "  an'  'tis  right,  aren't  it? 
Yow've  found  'tis  anoather  witch,  I  hoad  a  pound. 
Han't  ye?     Who  is 't?" 

"  Master  Dove,  I  hev  made  several  trials,  an'  I  be 
willin'  to  tell  'ee  that  they  den't  pint  to  Mrs.  Martin." 

"  There  !  I  knowed  it  well  'nough  !  "  cried  Dove, 
triumphantly.  "Den't  I  say't,  Master  Murr'll,  sir? 
Den't  I  say't,  now?" 

"  But  when  I  made  the  trials,  Master  Dove,  I  was 
under  that  evil  influence."  And  Murrell  pointed 
toward  the  stile. 

"  What,  the  tubs  ?  Lord  bless  'ee,  what  difference 
would  they  make?  Unless  yow 'd  been  a-drinkin 
too  much  out  of 'em." 

"  I  hev  drunk  nothen  out  of  'em,  Master  Dove, 
an'  that  weren't  my  meanin'.     My  meanin'  were,  as 


A  WAKEFUL  NIGHT  291 

I  toad  'ee  a  while  back,  that  silin'  my  hands  with 
such  unbeseemin'  traffic  hev  done  injury  to  my 
lawful  arts — arts  that  need  clean  hands  above  arl 
things.  So  that  when  my  trials  show  nothen  agen 
Mrs.  Martin,  'tis  mayhap  not  to  be  depended  on." 

"Lord  bless  'ee,  what  difference  can  a  few  tubs 
make,  standin' in  a  larned  man's  house?  'Taren't 
in  natur.  Lord !  there 's  many  a  good  man  had 
thousands,  one  time  an'  anoather!  If  yow  hev 
proved  Mrs.  Martin  no  witch  'tis  enough,  an'  arl 
the  tubs  in  the  world  can't  matter  a  farden  ! " 

"Is  that  your  opinion  then?"  Murrell  asked, 
keenly. 

"  Ay,  sarten  to  say.     Stands  to  reason." 

"  Well,  Master  Dove,  it  ben't  mine.  But  every 
man  hev  a  right  to  his  own  opinion.  Now,  attend. 
Master  Dove.  I  hev  told  yow  that  I  hev  made 
trials  that  do  not  pint  to  Mrs.  Martin  as  a  witch. 
Very  good.  Now  it  seems  yow  be  anxious  to  clear 
Mrs.  Martin.  If  yow  were  to  tell  abroad  that  I 
had  made  the  trials,  'twouldn't  be  well  to  mention 
they  tubs." 

"  Well,  I  wouldn't  speak  o'  them,  nohow,  o'  coase," 
Roboshobery  Dove  answered,  a  little  reproachfully  ; 
because  to  give  information  of  illicit  tubs  was  in 
his  eyes  the  unpardonable  sin. 


292  CUNNING  MURRELL 

"  No,  'twere  best  not,"  replied  Murrell,  the  casuist. 
"  If  it  ben't  known  I  hev  meddled  in  such  matters, 
the  better  will  it  be  taken  that  Mrs.  Martin  be  no 
witch,  if  that's  what  yow're  wantin'.  An'  if  'tis 
your  honest  opinion  (as  'tis  not  mine)  that  the 
tubs  make  no  difference,  why,  arl  the  more  reason 
for  not  tellin' what  yow've  seen  to-night.  Do 'ee 
unnerstand  ?  " 

Roboshobery  Dove,  who  was  no  casuist,  was  not 
at  all  sure  that  he  did.  But  he  said,  with  con- 
sideration :  "  I  think  I  see.  Master  Murrell,  sir.  I 
may  give  it  out,  an'  stand  to't,  an'  yow'll  back 
me,  that  Mrs.  Martin  be  no  proved  witch — summut 
havin'  been  wrong  in  the  partic'lars — so  long  as  I 
keep  close  about  your  little  games  with  they  tubs. 
I  think  that  be  about  the  size  of  it,  hey  .'' " 

Murrell  was  disgusted  with  the  coarseness  of  this 
interpretation  of  his  argument.  But  he  only  said  : 
"  Well,  well — putt  it  in  what  form  ye  like,  so  long 
as  we  unnerstand.  An'  now  I  bid  yow  good-night, 
Master  Dove,  an'  thank'ee  for  your  help.  Yow 
den't  need " 

Both  started  at  a  sharp  noise  far  down  the  lane. 
There  was  a  yell,  and  a  sudden  clamour  of  shouts  ; 
then  a  whistle,  and  the  quick  noise  of  scurrying 
feet.     And   again   there  was   shouting — one  great 


A  WAKEFUL  NIGHT  293 

and  angry  voice  predominating,  it  would  seem,  in 
mingled  orders  and  curses.  And  the  scurrying 
feet  came  nearer. 

Dove  started  off  down  the  lane,  and  Murrell,  after 
a  second's  hesitation,  followed  him.  His  safest 
course  would  have  been  to  shut  himself  indoors  ; 
but  curiosity  impelled  him,  and,  after  all,  nobody 
would  be  surprised  to  find  him  abroad  at  any  hour 
of  the  night. 

He  had  scarcely  passed  the  stile  when  a  tall  man 
met  him,  and  instantly  seized  his  arm.  " 'Tis  up 
with  Cloyse,"  said  the  man,  in  a  loud  whisper ;  and 
then  Murrell  saw  that  it  was  Golden  Adams. 

"Tis  up  with  Cloyse,"  repeated  Adams,  "an'  the 
guard  hev  arl  his  tubs.  I  see  'em  comin'  'fore  they 
got  him,  an'  I  runned  up  fust.  Get  on — get  yow 
away.  That  hat  do  shine  like  a  noo  tin  pot.  Get 
yow  away — they're  arter  the  carriers,  lickerty- 
splitl" 

He  dragged  the  little  man  a  yard,  but  finding  him 
resisting,  said  :  "  Why  woant  yow  come  ?  They  '11 
be  here  in  a  bit,  I  tell  'ee !  We  doan't  want  to  lose 
our  own  lot !  " 

"Let  go  my  arm,  Golden  Adams,"  said  Murrell 
"  an'  look  arter  your  own  business.  As  for  me, 
I  'm   done  with   it.     I  ask  no  pay,  and  I  give  no 


294  CUNNING  MURRELL 

more  service.  But  there  be  your  tubs  in  the  ditch 
behind  the  hedge  !  " 

"  What  ?  "  Adams  dropped  the  arm,  took  a  short 
run  toward  the  stile,  checked,  and  came  back. 
"  What  d'  ye  mean  ?  "  he  said  fiercely,  pushing  his 
fist  in  Murrell's  face.     "  Playin'  tricks?" 

"  The  tricks  be  your  own,  Golden  Adams.  The 
tubs  be  where  I  say — the  best  place  I  could  find 
for  'em.  I  take  no  share,  an'  I  want  none  of  'em — 
keep  'em  for  yourself  I  be  done  with  such  business. 
I  bear  yow  no  ill  will,  but  I  hev  reasons  of  my  own." 

For  a  moment  it  seemed  that  Adams  would 
knock  Murrell  down.  But  at  that  instant  there 
were  three  loud  signal-shots,  and  then  everything 
was  touched  with  a  pale  radiance,  for  a  blue-light 
was  lit  on  Castle  Hill. 

.  Golden  Adams  turned  with  a  curse,  and  leaped 
over  the  stile.  Three  or  four  men,  panting  hard, 
came  running  by  Murrell ;  and  behind  them  ran 
more.  While  up  the  hill  came  stealing  a  subtle 
and  pleasant  odour,  mingling  agreeably  with  the 
sweet  natural  scents  of  the  night ;  and  it  was  the 
smell  of  white  brandy.  For  the  carriers,  unused 
to  the  business,  and  taking  no  pride  in  the  valiant 
fulfilment  of  their  charge,  as  did  the  carriers  of  old 
days,  had  flung  their  burdens  away  and  bolted  at 


A  WAKEFUL  NIGHT  295 

the  first  alarm  ;  and  two  tubs  of  brandy,  near  a 
hundred  degrees  above  proof  and  burst  in  the  fall, 
now  advertised  their  bearers'  pusillanimity  to  every 
waking  nose  within  half  a  mile. 

Roboshobery  Dove  came  back  up-hill  at  his  best 
pace.  Murrell,  the  trees,  the  hedges,  the  cottages, 
and  the  backs  of  the  flying  carriers  were  dis- 
tinguishable now  in  the  pale  flickering  light  of 
the  flare.  "  Look  at  'em  !  "  said  Roboshobery,  with 
great  contempt.  "  Every  man  hulled  away  his  tubs 
an'  run,  as  though  there  weren't  a  chance  o'  most 
on  'em  gettin'  away,  tubs  and  arl !  Two  score  on 
'em  an'  more,  arl  runnin'  like  for  a  wager !  Want 
their  mothers  with  'em,  I  count.  Lot  o'  big  gals  ! " 
Hadleigh  was  rousing — was  awake.  The  signal- 
shots  and  the  tramp  of  running  men  had  begun  it, 
and  most  of  the  sleepers  had  reached  their  chamber 
windows  ere  the  blue  light  had  burned  out. 

To  every  man  in  these  parts  the  blue  light  of 
the  coastguard  was  as  the  trump  of  Gabriel ;  and 
now  that  the  light  was  burned  almost  at  their  own 
doors  all  Hadleigh  scrambled  out  of  bed,  seized 
the  nearest  handful  of  anything  resembling  cloth- 
ing, and  came  to  see.  Several  brought  lanterns, 
most  had  night-caps,  one  had  a  gun,  and  a  few 
had  boots. 


296  CUNNING  MURRELL 

"  What  is  't  ?  Where  be  ?  Be  it  the  Rooshans  ? 
A  run  o'  stuff!  The  coastguard 's  got 'em,  sarten 
to  say ! "  So  spoke  the  men  of  Hadleigh  ;  and 
the  women,  too,  for  they  came  as  readily  as  the 
men. 

Presently  up  the  lane  came  the  chief  officer, 
swearing  now  but  intermittently,  gripping  a  man 
by  the  collar ;  and  with  him  came  one  of  his 
men  with  another  prisoner.  And  it  was  not  long 
ere  it  was  seen  that  the  chief  officer  had  hold  of 
old  Sim  Cloyse,  while  his  man  had  caught  an 
unlucky  carrier,  an  Eastwood  man.  Young  Sim, 
it  seemed,  had  been  knocked  over,  but  for  the 
present  had  escaped  in  the  dark. 

"  Come  !  "  cried  the  chief  officer.  "  I  want  a 
horse  and  cart  to  hire  for  the  Queen's  service,  to 
carry  seized  goods.  If  any  of  you  people  like  to 
bring  me  one  it  shall  be  paid  for.  If  not,  I  shall 
have  to  rout  one  out,  and  take  it." 

Everybody  instantly  remembered  that  somebody 
else  had  a  horse  and  cart,  but  at  length  there 
was  a  general  agreement  that  Banham  was  the 
patriot  who  should  serve  the  Queen,  as  being  carrier 
by  trade,  as  well  as  having  his  cart  close  at  hand. 
Banham,  in  fact,  was  already  present  in  shirt  and 
trousers,  with  Mrs.  Banham   in  a  mysterious  white 


A  WAKEFUL  NIGHT  297 

under-garment,  a  shawl,  and  a  nightcap ;    and  a 
train  of  small  Banhams  in  nothing  but  their  shirts. 

The  chief  officer  held  both  prisoners  while  his 
man  burned  another  blue  light  on  a  little  knoll 
close  at  hand,  so  that  the  incoming  guards  should 
make  directly  for  the  spot  where  they  were  needed. 
The  display  was  regarded  with  great  enthusiasm, 
and  it  communicated  a  comic  ghostliness  to  the 
assemblage.  While  it  continued  two  men  arrived, 
and  took  over  the  captives,  so  that  the  chief  officer 
might  go  with  Banham  to  see  the  horse  harnessed. 

Long  before  this  Roboshobery  Dove  had  made 
little  preparations  of  his  own.  He  was  aware  of  the 
danger  of  appearing  as  the  sole  fully-dressed  person 
in  the  crowd  (with  the  exception  of  Murrell,  whose 
night-walking  habits  were  known),  and  he  had 
pulled  off  his  coat  and  waistcoat,  and  stowed  them, 
with  his  glazed  hat,  in  a  convenient  corner.  So 
that  now  he  stood  with  the  rest  in  his  shirt, 
trousers,  and,  as  usual,  one  boot ;  and  a  handful 
of  the  shirt  was  dragged  negligently  over  his 
waistband,  as  an  expression  of  careless  haste. 
And  as  he  stood  thus  there  came  to  him  a 
sudden  and  brilliant  notion.  He  resolved  to 
make  a  speech. 

The  officer  had  just  gone  off  with  Banham,  and 


298  CUNNING  MURRELL 

Mrs.  Banham  had  gone  to  direct  and  counsel  her 
husband.  Murrell  was  looking  on  almost  unnoticed 
in  the  shade  behind  the  villagers.  Roboshobery 
Dove,  however,  directed  the  general  attention  to 
him  by  hailing  him  in  a  loud  voice. 

"  Master  Murr'll,  sir! "  bawled  Roboshobery  Dove. 

The  cunning  man  gave  a  start  and  coughed. 
"  Well,  Master  Dove,"  he  said  quietly,  "  I  be  here." 

"  Master  Murr'll,  sir,"  Roboshobery  proceeded 
in  the  same  loud  voice,  "  I  think  on  this  here  in- 
terestin'  occasion,  arl  these  here  neighbours  bein' 
present  together,  which  is  uncommon,  I  will  take 
the  liberty,  so  to  say,  o'  givin'  out  a  piece  o'  in- 
formation I  hev  received,  or  beared,  from  yow. 
'Tis  as  respects  Mrs.  Martin,  neighbours,  which 
hev  most  unjustly  been  putt  upon  for  a  witch, 
when  stands  to  reason  she  coon't  be,  her  son 
bein'  killed  fightin'  the  Rooshans,  as  be  well 
knowed.  Well,  neighbours,  to  make  the  yarn  no 
longer  than  need  be,  Master  Murr'll  here,  which 
be  well  knowed  as  a  genelman  o'  the  very  primest 
powerful  larnin',  hev  made  sarten  performances 
which  prove  Mrs.  Martin  be  no  witch  at  arl,  but 
far  from  it  on  the  contrairy,  an'  nothen  o'  the  sort ; 
an'  if  anything  ever  looked  otherwise,  it  was  'cause 
the    devil    muddled    the    partic'Iars,   as   might   ha' 


A  WAKEFUL  NIGHT  299 

been  guessed.  So  much  be  arl  needed  to  be 
said,  since  oather  surprisin'  partic'lars,  as  matters 
of  opinion,  I  ben't  allowed  to  mention,  seein' 
every  man  hev  a  right  to  his  own,  as  Master 
Murr'll  do  sartify.     An'  so " 

But  here  Cunning  JMurrell  interrupted.  The 
whole  speech  was  a  trifle  disconcerting  for  him  ; 
but  the  latter  sentences,  which  Roboshobery  Dove 
had  wished  him  to  take  as  an  artistic  and  subtle 
assurance  that  his  secret  was  safe,  put  him  in 
alarm.  So  now  he  came  forward  and  took  up 
the  speech  himself 

"  Axcuse  me,  Master  Dove,"  he  said,  with  calm 
dignity.  "'Tis  much  as  Master  Dove  hev  told 
yow,  neighbours,  though  not  said  as  I  might  say't. 
It  hev  come  to  be  known  to  me  that  of  late  sarten 
of  my  lawful  trials  an'  experiments  an'  inquisitions 
hev  been  interfered  with  an'  set  wrong  by  a  strange 
an'  unusual  matter,  which  I  hev  now  mastered  an' 
got  rid  of,  an'  so  needn't  try  to  explain  to  yow, 
especially  as  yow'd  never  unnerstan'  my  meanin' 
if  I  did.  The  last  experiment  that  was  so  made 
to  fail  was  this  evenin'  at  Master  Banham's,  as  doubt- 
less yow  '11  hear  of  at  length  in  the  mornin'.  The 
trouble  is  now  made  known  to  me,  an'  got  rid  of  for 
the  future.     I  wish  yow  good-night,  neighbours." 


300  CUNNING  MURRELL 

Steve  Lingood  came  up  and  joined  the  little 
crowd  just  as  Murrell's  explanation  finished,  and 
the  neighbours,  bedazed  already  by  the  tumultuous 
events  of  the  night,  began  to  discuss  this  neu^ 
marvel.  As  they  did  so,  and  just  as  the  sound 
of  Banham's  cart  was  heard  a  little  lower  in  the 
lane,  a  shout  arose  from  the  meadow  behind  the 
stile,  over  which  several  fresh  coastguardsmen  had 
come,  scurrying  in  from  eastward.  And  at  the 
shout  the  chief  officer  left  the  cart  and  came 
running.  There  was  a  scuffle  behind  the  hedge, 
an  oath,  and  a  few  blows ;  then  a  wrangle  of 
cries:— "Hoad  him!"  "Look  out!"  "Where 
be?"  "Stop  him,  damme!"  "There  he  go!" 
"  Here  !  "  "  Where  be  him  ?  "  "  This  way  ! "  "  No, 
he's  gone !" 

The  chief  officer  rushed  at  the  stile  with  such 
a  mouthful  of  salt-sea  rhetoric  as  Hadleigh  had 
never  heard  before.  But  he  was  too  late,  for  Golden 
Adams  had  got  away. 

"But  there's  a  mort  o'  tubs  here  in  the  ditch, 
sir ! "  a  coastguardsman  reported.  And  the  chief 
officer  was  appeased  when  he  found  there  was. 

Truly  for  Hadleigh  this  was  a  night  of  nights, 
this  of  the  very  last  run  of  tubs  ever  attempted  on 
that  coast. 


CHAPTER    XXVI 

AND  AFTER 

IT  was  a  year — more  than  a  year — ere  Had- 
leigh  was  again  the  same  quiet  Hadleigh 
that  it  had  been  before  old  Sim  Cloyse's  last  enter- 
prise in  contraband.  Next  year's  fair-day  put  a 
short  check  on  the  matter  as  a  subject  of  conver- 
sation, it  is  true  ;  but  it  was  restored  in  a  week, 
and  thirty  years  afterward  it  was  still  a  convenient 
topic  at  the  Castle  Inn  on  winter  evenings.  It 
is  possible  that  even  now  some  remain  who  use 
that  bewildering  night  as  the  epoch  in  their 
calendar,  before  which  and  after  which  they  date 
the  births,  marriages,  deaths,  and  other  happen- 
ings of  Hadleigh  and  Leigh,  even  as  the  Moslem 
dates  from  the  flight  of  his  prophet.  It  was  near 
a  week  ere  the  quicker-witted  had  sorted  out  the 
night's  adventures  in  their  own  minds,  and  never 
after  did  any  one  of  them  agree  with  any  other  as 
to  how  it  all  came  about,  or  in  what  order.     As  for 

301 


302  CUNNING  MURRELL 

the  slower-vvitted,  they  went  puzzled  to  their 
graves. 

But  in  some  way  the  night's  work  put  a  brace 
to  Mrs.  Martin's  faculties.  She  brought  the  revenue 
men  to  Castle  Hill,  and  waited  at  the  foot  with 
Dorrily  while  they  crept  stealthily  to  the  top ; 
and  as  soon  as  it  was  plain  that  a  seizure  was 
being  made  and  that  nothing  more  remained  for 
her  to  do,  she  submitted  to  go  quietly  home  and 
to  bed.  It  was  a  piece  of  her  old  life,  a  revival  of 
her  old  activity,  and  it  gave  her  sound  and  healthy 
sleep.  And  in  that  sleep  she  slept  away  the  clouds 
from  her  mind,  waking  to  something  of  her  old  self 
For  in  the  morning  she  gave  a  loose  to  her  grief 
for  her  lost  son,  such  as  she  had  not  given  before, 
even  when  the  news  was  brought  her;  much, 
indeed,  as  though  its  true  meaning  were  only  now 
made  clear. 

There  was  an  end,  too,  of  the  tale  of  her  witch- 
craft. There  were  women  who  shook  their  heads 
still,  and  others  who  held  it  a  shame  that  Cunning 
Murrell  had  not  been  more  careful ;  but  most  were 
content,  with  some  shamefacedness,  to  let  the  thing 
drop  wholly.  They  had  ever  a  reluctance  to  make 
over-close  acquaintance  with  her,  but  perhaps  the 
shamefacedness  had  its  part  in  that ;  and,  in  truth. 


AND  AFTER 


6'->5 


Mrs.  Martin  was  little  perturbed,  for  she  was  never 
a  gossip. 

Whether  or  not  the  thing  in  any  degree  shook 
the  popular  confidence  in  Murrell  it  would  be  hard 
indeed  to  say.  Probably  not,  for  Cunning  Murrell 
was  an  article  of  faith  too  long  established  to  be 
overset  by  a  trifle ;  and  indeed  there  was  no  sign 
of  it,  though  for  some  little  while  Ann  Pett  was 
regarded  with  suspicion,  because  of  the  adventure 
in  Banham's  bake-house.  This,  however,  rather 
increased  than  diminished  the  awe  in  which  the 
cunning  man  was  held  ;  and  soon  his  fame  stood 
higher  than  ever,  because  of  certain  very  notable 
successes. 

One  of  these  was  made  evident  in  the  case  of 
Dorcas  Brooker.  For  it  came  to  be  known  that 
she  had  looked  in  Cunning  Murrell's  famous  pail 
of  blackened  water,  and  therein  had  seen  Sam 
Gill's  ship  flung  on  a  rock,  and  wrecked.  And 
truly  enough  Sam  Gill  was  shipwrecked  on  the 
Azores,  for  he  came  back  himself,  sent  home  to 
his  own  parish  by  charity,  and  told  the  tale.  And 
anybody  who  doubted  might  go  and  ask  for  him 
at  Atkins's,  the  boatbuilder,  where  he  got  work,  and 
behaved  very  well.  And  if,  now  that  Atkins's  is 
no  more,  you  still  offer  to  doubt,  you  may  see  the 


304  CUNNING  MURRELL 

record  of  the  wedding  of  Samuel  Gill  and  Dorcas 
Brooker  in  the  Leigh  register  at  this  day. 

Another  triumph  was  in  the  case  of  Em 
Banham,  whom  Cunning  Murrell  cured  at  last 
— or  at  any  rate  Em  Banham  was  cured.  He 
went  to  work,  this  time,  with  more  caution,  and 
he  used  no  more  iron  bottles.  Instead  he  per- 
severed with  experiments  in  physic,  using  herbs, 
some  stewed,  some  dried,  some  chopped,  and  many 
made  into  very  large  and  ugly  pills.  He  persisted 
so  long  and  so  industriously  in  this  treatment  that 
it  were  a  mere  absurdity  to  suggest  that  in  the  end 
the  girl  grew  out  of  her  trouble;  and  indeed  nobody 
did  suggest  it.  The  cure  first  began  to  show  itself 
on  the  next  Midsummer  Day,  when  Em  Banham 
went  a-fairing  with  Joe,  Dan  Fisk's  son,  and  was 
never  melancholic  again.  Her  sister  Mag  went 
a-fairing  too,  with  young  Sim  Cloyse,  just  as  she 
had  done  the  last  time ;  and  there  was  nothing  to 
mar  the  joy  of  that  day,  nor  to  quench  the  smell 
of  peppermint. 

And  so  with  a  slow  and  gradual  drowsing 
Hadleigh  fell  asleep  again.  The  black  cottage 
stood  in  its  place,  and  in  truth  neither  before  he 
went  to  gaol  nor  after  he  came  out  did  old  Sim 
Cloyse  dream  of  demolishing  it ;    for  that  was  a 


AND  AFTER  305 

project  born  of  a  moment's  ardent  inspiration  in 
the  brain  of  young  Sim.  The  days  came  and  went, 
and  the  months ;  even  the  back  pay  and  prize- 
money  due  to  the  day  of  Jack  Martin's  fatal  shore- 
going  came  at  last,  and  the  tiny  pension  ;  and  a 
year  went,  and  another  year  ;  and  life  at  the  black 
cottage  saw  little  change. 

But  in  time  there  came  a  day — though  it  was 
long  to  wait — when  Steve  Lingood  looked  from 
the  high  meadows  down  to  the  black  cottage,  and 
saw  in  the  garden  Dorrily  Thorn,  with  a  red  rose 
in  her  hair. 


U 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

FINIS 

SIX  years  were  gone,  and  it  was  a  bright  day, 
and  not  so  cold  as  it  might  have  been,  in 
December,  i860.  Stephen  Lingood  came  up  from 
Leigh  by  way  of  the  marshes,  taking  a  zig-zag 
path  with  care  and  forethought,  for  in  the  winter 
months  it  is  an  easy  thing  to  get  into  difficulties 
in  boggy  spots  thereabout.  Once  on  the  slope 
of  Castle  Hill,  however,  he  was  free  of  the  soft 
places,  and  climbed  with  less  heed. 

He  gained  the  top  and  stood  beside  the  greatest 
of  the  broken  towers  to  look  back.  It  was  a  view 
that  had  not  changed  for  two  hundred  years  and 
more — since  Croppenburgh  dammed  and  dyked 
Canvey  Island — save  in  one  particular.  There 
toward  the  east  and  the  sea  lay  Leigh  with  its 
red  roofs,  floating,  as  it  seemed,  on  the  water. 
There  stretched  the  water,  bright  in  the  sunlight, 
with  the  grey  Kent  coast  beyond  ;  and  there  lay 

306 


FINIS  307 

Canvey  Island,  wide  and  flat  and  low,  like  a  patch 
of  duckweed  in  a  pond.  Nearer  was  the  Ray, 
that  cut  the  island  off  from  main  Essex ;  and 
nearer  still  the  green  marshes,  where  now  a  boy 
was  jumping,  backing,  dodging,  and  jumping 
again,  a  mere  speck  in  the  distance,  trying  to 
out-manceuvre  a  pony  that  would  not  be  caught ; 
while  a  man,  a  rather  bigger  speck,  climbed  a  white 
gate  to  dodge  the  pony  on  the  other  side.  And 
this  was  where  the  one  change  was.  For  the  white 
gate  closed  a  path  that  led  across  the  railway ; 
and  the  railway  stretched,  a  straight  thin  brown 
line,  through  Casey  March  from  end  to  end,  east 
and  west,  and  its  next  station  was  at  Leigh. 

Lingood  descended  the  hill  behind,  and  walked 
up  the  lane.  The  black  cottage  looked  down  from 
the  bank,  but  there  was  a  new  tenant  there  now 
The  smith  kept  his  way  up  the  lane  along  which 
old  Sim  Cloyse's  tubs  had  been  carried  in 
Banham's  cart  six  years  ago,  in  the  time  of  the 
war,  passed  Cunning  Murrell's  cottage,  and  come 
out  in  Hadleigh  street.  The  hammer  rang  gaily 
in  the  smithy  where  his  new  man  was  at  work,  but 
Lingood  stopped  at  his  house  adjoining — the  white 
cottage  wi<"h  the  green  door — at  the  sound  of  a  song 
within. 


3o8  CUNNING  MURRELL 

"  What  will  you  give  me,  captain,  if  that  pirate  I  destroy  ?  " 
"/'//  give  yon  fame,  I'll  give  you  gold,  you  little  cabifi 
boy, 
A  fid  you  shall  wed  my  only  child,  she  is  my  pride  and  joy. 
If  you  sink  'em  in  the  Lowlands  low'' 
Lowlatidsl    Lowlands! 
If  you  sink  'em  in  the  Lowlands  low  ! 

Steve  Lingood  had  no  need  to  peep  to  know  that 
Roboshobery  Dove,  with  a  small  girl  on  the  sound 
knee  and  a  small  boy  clinging  to  the  wooden  leg, 
was  at  his  favourite  amusement  in  these  days,  when 
there  were  no  captured  ships  to  watch  for  from  the 
Castle  loophole,  and  gardening  was  stayed  till 
spring.  Lingood's  wife  nodded  and  smiled  from 
the  window,  and  he  went  on  to  the  forge. 

At  Cunning  Murrell's,  too,  there  was  a  change, 
though  a  change  of  a  different  sort.  There  in  the 
keeping-room,  with  all  his  books,  papers,  and  herbs 
about  him,  Cunning  Murrell  lay  a-bed,  wasted 
smaller  than  ever,  though  sharp  of  eye  still.  He  had 
had  the  bed  brought  downstairs,  that  he  might  lie 
here  among  his  treasures,  in  the  place  where  he  had 
listened  to  so  many  secrets,  solved  so  many  diffi- 
culties, and  settled  so  many  destinies.  The  door 
had  been  curtained  off  with  old  shawls  to  give  him 
some  privacy  from  draughts  and  visitors,  and  Ann 
Pett  waited  on  his  wants  faithfully  still. 

"  Ann  Pett,"  said  Murrell,  his  small  voice  smaller 


FINIS  309 

than  ever,  but  sharp,  though  now  with  something 
almost  childish  in  it;  "Ann  Pett,  I  will  hev  the 
book  o'  conjurations  from  the  drawer — no,  no,  the 
long  one — and  I  will  read,  Doan't  make  the  gruel 
— I  shan't  want  it." 

Ann  Pett  gave  him  the  manuscript  book  with 
its  teeming  spiders  of  signs  and  sigils,  and,  propped 
in  his  bed,  he  took  his  iron-rimmed  goggles  and 
settled  to  read.  But  first  he  resolved  certain 
business  matters. 

'■'  If  Mrs,  Bennett  send  round  for  more  'intment," 
he  squeaked,  "  'tis  that  in  the  gallipot  on  the  top 
shelf,  next  the  window.  'Tis  twopence,  an'  don't 
let  her  hev 't  without.  Ben't  as  though  she  couldn't 
pay  it.  An'  if  Simmons's  come  about  the  cow  send 
'cm  away.     I  woan't  be  bothered." 

"  An'  what  mus'  I  say  if  the  noo  curate  comes 
agen  ? " 

"  Send  him  away  too.  I  will  not  hev  the  noo 
curate.  Pie  knows  nothen,  that  he  should  come 
here  teachin'  me.  He  be  a  boy  as  might  be  my 
great  gran'son,  an'  I  be  the  devil's  master,  as  be 
well  knowed.  Clargymen  den't  bother  me  in  the 
cad  time,  an'  I  will  not  hev  this  meddlin'.  Send 
him  away.  ,  .  .  What  be  that  noise  ?  " 

The  old  man  paused,  with  his  thin  grey  lips 
apart,  and  his  hand  to  his  car. 


310  CUNNING  MURRELL 

"'Haps  it  be  the  Lunnon  railway  train,"  said 
Ann  Pett. 

"Ah!  the  railway  train,"  he  repeated  absently; 
"  the  railway  train.  .  .  .  Yes,  yes."  Then  he  spoke 
up  again.  "  There  be  one  more  thing,  Ann,  an'  the 
last  I  hev  to  tell  'ee.  I  hev  been  carled.  He  who 
hev  given  me  my  cunnin'  an'  my  larnin',  and  hev 
putt  me  in  dominion  over  arl  evil  things,  hev  sent 
for  me,  an'  I  shall  go — to-morrow,  at  one  o'clock. 
Ann,  yow've  been  a  good  darter  to  me,  though 
dull  of  unnerstandin'.  It  grieve  me  I  han't  much 
to  leave  'ee.  Yow  hev  little  money  in  hand,  I 
know ;  but  yow  shall  hev  a  good  gown  for  once 
in  your  life,  to  wear  at  the  funeral.  Look  yow  in 
the  box  under  the  stairs  an'  take  a  sovereign.  Get 
the  best  frock  it  will  buy,  an'  if  one  sovereign  ben't 
enough,  yow '11  find  anoather.  An'  now  leave  me, 
Ann.  I  shall  go,  as  I  tell  'ee — to-morrow — at  one 
o'clock." 

And  he  did,  to  the  minute. 


THE   END 


Edinburgh  :  T.  and  A.  Constable,  Printers  to  Her  Majesty. 


A  CATALOGUE  OF  BOOKS 

AND    ANNOUNCEMENTS    OF 

METHUEN    AND    COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  :  LONDON 

36  ESSEX  STREET 

W.C. 

CONTENTS 


TORTHCOMING  BOOKS, 

BELLES    LETTRES,  ANTHOLOGIES,  ETC., 
fOETRY,  .  .  .  • 

ILLUSTRATED  AND  GIFT  BOOKS, 
HISTORY,    .  .  .  .  ■ 

BIOGRAPHY,  .... 

TRAVEL,  ADVKNTORE  AND  TOPOGRAPHY, 
NAVAL   AND   MILITARY, 
CKNKRAL  LITERATURE, 
PHILOSOPHY,        .... 
THEOLOGY,  .... 

FICTION,  .... 

BOOKS  FOR  BOYS  AND  GIRLS,      . 
THE  PEACOCK  LIBRARY, 
UNIVERSITY    EXTENSION    SERIES, 
SOCIAL  QUESTIONS  OF  TO-DAY 
CLASSICAL  TRANSLATIONS, 
EDUCATIONAL  BOOKS, 


24 
24 
29 

39 
39 
39 
40 
41 
42 


AUGUST     1900 


August  1900 


Messrs.     Methuen's 

ANNOUNCEMENTS 


Travel,  Adventure  and  Topography 

THE  INDIAN  BORDERLAND  :  Being  a  Personal  Record 
of  Twenty  Years.  By  Sir  T.  H.  HOLDICH,  K.C.I.E.  Illustrated. 
Demy  ^vo.  i$s.  net. 
This  book  is  a  personal  record  of  the  author's  connection  with  those  military  and 
political  expeditions  which,  during  the  last  twenty  years,  have  led  to  the  con- 
solidation of  our  present  position  in  the  North-West  frontier  of  India.  It  is 
a  personal  history  of  trans-frontier  surveys  and  boundary  demarcations,  com- 
mencint;  with  Penjdeh  and  ending  with  the  Pamirs,  Chitral,  and  Tirah. 

MODERN  ABYSSYNIA.    By  A.  B.  Wylde.    With  a  Map  and 
a  Portrait.      Demy  Svo.      I'^s.  uet. 

An  important  and  comprehensive  account  of  Abyssinia  by  a  traveller  who  knows 
the  country  intimately,  and  has  had  the  privilege  of  the  friendship  of  King 
Menelik. 

Revised  by  Comntanding  Officers. 
THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  BOER  WAR.    By  F.  H.  E.  CUN- 
LIFKE,  Fellow  of  All  Souls'  College,  Oxford.    With  many  Illustrations, 
Plans,  and   Portraits.     Vol.  I.     Quarto,   i^s.     Also  in  Fortnightly 
Parts.      IS.  each. 

The  first  volume  of  this  important  work  is  nearly  ready.  When  complete,  this  book 
ivill  give  an  elaborate  and  connected  account  of  the  military  operations  in  South 
Africa  from  the  decl.iration  to  the  end  of  the  present  war.  It  must  remain  for  some 
years  the  standard  History  of  the  War.  Messrs.  Methuen  have  been  fortunate 
enough  to  secure  the  co-operation  of  many  commanding  officers  in  the  revision 
of  the  various  chapters. 

The  History  is  finely  illustrated. 

A  PRISONER  OF  WAR.  By  Colonel  A.  Schiel.  Cro^tm 
^vo.  6s. 
This  remarkable  book  contains  the  experiences  of  a  well-known  foreign  officer  of 
the  Boer  Army — from  1896  to  1900 — both  as  a  Boer  officer  and  as  a  prisoner  in  British 
hands.  Colonel  Schiel,  who  was  captured  at  Elandslaagte,  was  a  confidential 
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DARTMOOR:  A  Descriptive  and  Historical  Sketch.  By  S. 
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with  the  author's  well-known  Book  of  the  West. 

THE  SIEGE  OF  MAFEKING.    By  Angus  Hamilton.    With 

many  Illustrations.      Croiun  %vo.     6s. 
This  is  a  vivid,  accurate,  and  humorous  narrative  of  the  great  siege  by  the  well- 
known   Correspondent   of  the    Thiies.     Mr.   Hamilton  is  not  only  an  admirable 
writer,  but  an  excellent  fighter,  and  he  took  an  active  part  in  the  defenceof  the  town. 
His  narrative  of  the  siege  is  acknowledged  to  be  far  superior  to  any  other  account. 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Announcements         3 

CHINA.    By  J.  W.  Robertson-Scott.    With  a  Map.    Crown 

%V0.       2S. 
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THE  RELIEF  OF  MAFEKING.  By  FiLSON  Young.  With 
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This  book  gives  a  spirited  and  vigorous  account  of  the  work  accomplished  by 
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Colonel  Villebois  and  his  death,  at  which  episode  Mr.  Young  was  the  only  corre- 
spondent present.  The  book  deals  in  the  main  with  episodes  in  the  war  which 
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WITH  THE  BOER  FORCES.  By  Howard  C.  Hillegas. 
With  i6  Illustrations.  Crown  8vo.  6s. 
This  highly  interesting  book  is  a  narrative  of  the  episodes  of  the  Boer  war  by  a  corre- 
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exciting  and  most  dramatic  episodes  of  the  war.  He  was  with  the  force  which 
attempted  to  relieve  Cronje  at  Paardeberg,  was  present  during  a  considerable 
part  of  the  siege  of  Ladysmith,  at  the  battle  of  Colenso,  at  the  surprise  of  Sauna's 
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sensitive  of  Englishmen.  It  throws  a  flood  of  light  on  many  of  the  episodes 
which  have  been  mysterious,  and  explains  the  secrets  of  the  many  successes  which 
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History  and  Biography 

THE  LETTERS  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON  TO 
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THE  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  OF  SIR  JOHN  EVERETT 
MILLAIS,  President  of  the  Royal  Academy.  By  his  son  J.  G. 
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Zvo.     1 5^. 

A  HISTORY  OF  EGYPT,  from  the  Earliest  Times  to 
THE  Present  Day.    Edited  by  W.  M.  Flinders  Petrie,  D.C.L., 
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Illustrated  and   Gift   Books 

THE  LIVELY  CITY  OF  LIGG.  By  Gelett  Burgess.  With 
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4        Messrs.  Methuen's  Announcements 

GOOP    BABIES.       By  Gelett   Burgess.      With  numerous 

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THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  RELIGION  IN  ENGLAND.  By 
Alfred  Caldecott,  D.D.     Demy  Zvo.     los.  6d. 

[Handbooks  of  Theology. 
A  complete  history  and  description  of  the  various  philosophies  of  religion  which  have 
been  formulated  during  the  last  few  centuries  in  England  and  America. 

ST.  PAUL'S  SECOND  AND  THIRD  EPISTLES  TO  THE 
CORINTHIANS.  With  Introduction,  Dissertations,  and  Notes  by 
James  Houghton  Kennedy,  D.D.,  Assistant  Lecturer  in  Divinity 
in  the  University  of  Dublin.      Crown  Svo.     6s. 

THE  SOUL  OF  A  CHRISTIAN.  By  F.  S.  Granger,  M.A., 
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Professor  Granger  abandons  the  conventional  method  of  psychology  by  which  the 
individual  is  taken  alone,  and  instead, he  regards  him  as  sharing  in  and  contribut- 
ing to  the  catholic  tradition.  Hence  the  book  deals  not  only  with  the  average 
religious  life,  but  also  with  the  less  familiar  experiences  of  the  mystic,  the  vision- 
ary, and  the  symbolist.  These  experiences  furnish  a  clue  to  poetic  creation  in  its 
various  kinds,  and  further,  to  the  miracles  which  occur  during  times  of  religious 
enthusiasm. 

©jfor&   Commentaries. 

THE  ACTS  OF  THE  APOSTLES.  Edited,  with  an  Intro- 
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Zbc  Ulbrarg  of  Devotion 

FoU  Svo.     Cloth  25. ;    leather  2s.  6d.  net, 
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A  GUIDE  TO  ETERNITY.     By  Cardinal  Bona.      Edited 

with  an  Introduction  and  Notes  by  J.  W.  Stanbridge,  B.  D.,  late 

Fellow  of  St.  John's  College,  Oxford. 
THE  PSALMS  OF  DAVID.     With  an  Introduction  and  Notes 

by  B.  W.  Randolph,  D.D.,  Principal  of  the  Theological  College, 

Ely. 

A  devotional  and  practical  edition  of  the  Prayer  Book  version  of  the  Psalms. 

LYRA  APOSTOLICA.  With  an  Introduction  by  Canon  ScOTT 
Holland,  and  Notes  by  H.  C.  Beeching,  M.A. 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Announcements         5 

Belles   Lettres 
Zbc  Xittle  ©uiDes 

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NEW  VOLUMES. 

WESTMINSTER  ABBEY.  By  G.  E.  Troutbeck.  Illustrated 
by  F.  D.  Bedford. 

SUSSEX.    By  F.  G.  Brabant,  M.A.     Illustrated  by  E.  H.  New. 
ILittle  :B{ograpblc8 

Fcap.  8vo.     Each  Volume,  cloth  2s.  6(1. ;  leather,  y.  6d.  net. 

Messrs.  Methuen  will  publish  shortly  the  first  two  volumes  of  a  new 
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character  famous  in  war,  art,  literature  or  science,  and  will  be  written  by 
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THE  LIFE  OF  SAVONAROLA.  By  E.  L.  Horsburgh,  M.A., 
With  Portraits  and  Illustrations. 

THE  LIFE  OF  DANTE  ALIGHIERI.  By  Paget  Toynbee. 
With  10  Illustrations. 

Z\ic  TlClorfts  of  Sbaftespcare 

New  volumes  uniform  with  Professor  Dowden's  Haiiiht. 

ROMEO  AND  JULIET.  Edited  by  Edward  Dowden,  Litt.D. 
Demy  8vo.     31.  6d. 

KING  LEAR.     Edited  by  W.  J.  Craig.     Demy  Zvo.     y.  bd. 

/Ilbetbucn'6  Stan&arD  Xibrar^ 

MEMOIRS  OF  MY  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS.  By  Edward 
Gibbon.  Edited,  with  an  Introduction  and  Notes  by  G.  Birkbeck 
Hill,  LL.D.     Crown  Svo.     6s. 

THE    LETTERS    OF    LORD    CHESTERFIELD   TO    HIS 

SON.     Edited,  with  an  Introduction  and  Notes  by  C.  Strachey  and 
A.  Calthrop.      Two  volumes.     Crown  8vo.     6s.  each. 


6         Messrs.  Methuen's  Announcements 
Zbc  IHovels  of  Cbarlcs  Dtchens 

With  Introductions  by  George  Gissing,  Notes  by  F.  G.  KiTTON, 
and  Illustrations. 

Crown  8vo.     Each  Volume,  cloth  y.  net,  leather  a,s.  6d.  net. 

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Two  Volumes.  \Keady 

NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.      With  Illustrations   by   R.  J.  Williams. 

Two  Volumes.  \_Ready. 

BLEAK  HOUSE.      With  Illustrations  by  Beatrice  Alcock.      Two 

Volumes. 
OLIVER  TWIST.     With  Illustrations  by  E.   H.  New.     One  Volume. 

Z\iZ  Xittle  Xibrarg 

With  Introductions,  Notes,  and  Photogravure  Frontispieces. 
Pott  Zvo.     Each  Volume,  cloth  \s.  6d.  net.  ;  leather  2s.  6d.  net. 
NEiV  VOLUMES. 

THE  EARLY  POEMS  OF  ALFRED,  LORD  TENNYSON. 

Edited  by  J.  C.  Collins,  M.A. 
MAUD.    By  ALFRED,  LORD  Tennyson.    Edited  by  Elizabeth 

Wordsworth. 
A  LITTLE  BOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LYRICS.     With  Notes. 
PRIDE  AND  PREJUDICE.     By  Jane  Austen.     Edited  by 

E.  V.  Lucas.     Two  Volumes. 
PENDENNIS.    By  W.  M.  Thackeray.    Edited  by  S.  Gwynn. 

Three  volumes. 
EOTHEN.     By  A.  W.  Kinglake.      With  an    Introduction  and 

Notes. 
LAVENGRO.    By  George  Borrow.    Edited  by  F.  Hindes 

Groome.     2  Volumes. 
CRANFORD.      By  Mrs.  Gaskell.     Edited  by  E.  V.  Lucas. 
THE  INFERNO  OF  DANTE.     Translated  by  H.  F.  Gary. 

Edited  by  Paget  Toynbee. 
JOHN  HALIFAX,  GENTLEMAN.     By  Mrs.  Craik.     Edited 

by  Annie  Matheson.     Two  volumes. 
A  LITTLE  BOOK  OF  SCOTTISH  VERSE.     Arranged  and 

Edited  by  T.  F.  Henderson. 
A  LITTLE  BOOK  OF  ENGLISH   PROSE.      Arranged  and 

Edited  by  Mrs.  P.  A.  Barnett. 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Announcements 


Poetry 


WRIT' IN  BARRACKS.   By  Edgar  Wallace.   Cr.Zvo.   y.bd. 

Mr.  Edgar  Wallace,  a  meniber  of  the  Royal  Army  Medical  Corp>,  i>  a  follower  of 
Mr.  Kipling,  and  his  ballads  of  soldier  life  and  sufferings  are  well-known  in  South 
Africa.  They  are  spirited,  pathetic,  and  true,  and  at  the  present  time  they  should 
enjoy  a  considerable  popularity. 

THE  RUBAIYAT  OF  OMAR  KHAYYAM.  Translated  by 
Edward  FitzGerald,  with  a  Commentary  by  11.  M.  BATSON,and 
a  Biography  of  Omar  by  E.  D.  Ross,  M.A.     bs. 

This  edition  of  the  famous  book,  the  text  of  which  is  printed  by  permission  of  Messrs. 
Macmillan,  is  the  most  complete  in  existence.  It  contains  FitzGerald's  last  text, 
and  a  very  full  commentary  on  each  stanza.  Professor  Ross,  who  is  an  admirable 
Persian  scholar,  contributes  a  biography,  containing  many  new,  valuable,  and 
interesting  facts. 


Scientific  and  Educational 

THE  CAPTIVI  OF  PLAUTUS.    Edited,  with  an  Introduction, 
Textual  Notes,  and  a  Commentary,  by  W.  M.  Lindsay,  Fellow  of 
Jesus  College,  Oxford.     Demy  ?>vo.      loj-.  dd.  net. 
For  this  edition  all  the  important  Mss.  have  been  re-collated.      An  appendix  deals 
with  the  accentual  element  in  early  Latin  verse.     The  Commentary  is  very  full. 

THE  CONSTRUCTION  OF  LARGE  INDUCTION  COILS. 

By  A.  T.  Hare,  M.A.     With  numerous  Diagrams.     DeniyZvo.    6j. 

LACE-MAKING  IN  THE  MIDLANDS,  PAST  AND 
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AGRICULTURAL  ZOOLOGY.  By  Dr.  J.  Ritzema  Bos. 
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Crown  8vo.     35.  6d, 

A   SOUTH   AFRICAN   ARITHMETIC.      By   Henry   Hill, 
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Svo.     35.  6d. 
This  book  has  been  specially  written  for  use  in  South  African  schools. 

A  GERMAN  COMMERCIAL  READER.  By  S.  Bally,  M.A. 
Crown  Zvo.     2s.  [A/etAuen's  Commercial  Series. 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Announcements 


Fiction 

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8vo.     6s. 

QUISANTE.     By  Anthony  Hope.     Cro7an  Svo.    6s. 

A  MASTER  OF  CRAFT.  By  W.  W.  Jacobs,  Author  of 
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THE  GATELESS  BARRIER.  By  Lucas  Malet,  Author 
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CUNNING  MURRELL.  By  Arthur  Morrison,  Author  of 
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FOR  BRITAIN'S  SOLDIERS  :  Stories  for  the  War  Fund.  By 
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WINEFRED.  By  S.  Baring  Gould,  Author  of  '  Mehalah.' 
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PATH  AND  GOAL.     By  Ada  Cambridge.     Crown  ?>vo.     6s. 

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XIII.  THE  POMP  OF  THE  LAVILETTES.    Gilbert  Parker. 

XIV.  A  ISIAN  OF  MARK.  Anthony  Hope. 

XV.  THE  CARISSIMA.  Lucas  Malet. 

[Se/'/cmder. 
XVL  THE  LADY'S  WALK.  Mrs.  Oliphant. 

[  October. 
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\November. 

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A  Ntw  Series  of  Copyright  Books. 

I.  THE  MATABELE  CAMPAIGN.    Maj. -General  Baden  Powell. 

H.  THE  DOWNFALL  OF  PREMPEH.  Do. 

HI.  MY  DANISH  SWEETHEART.       W.  Clark  Russell. 

IV.  IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA.     S.  Baring  Gould. 

V.  PEGGY  OF  THE  BARTONS.         B.  M.  Croker. 

VI.  IN  THE  MIDST  OF  ALARMS.     Robert  Barr. 

\Scl-tei)iher. 
VIL   BADEN  POWELL  OF  MAFEKING  :  a  Biography. 

J.  S.  Fletcher.  ^October. 

A  2 


A  CATALOGUE  OF 

Messrs.    Methuen's 

PUBLICATIONS 


Poetry 


Rudyard Kipling.  BARRACK-ROOM 
BALLADS.  By  RuDYARD  Kipling. 
68/A  Thousand.  Crown  8vo.  6s. 
Leather,  6j.  net. 

'  Mr.  Kipling's  verse  is  strong,  vivid,  full 
of  character.  .  .  .  Unmistakeable  genius 
rings  in  everj'  line.' — Times. 

'  The  ballads  teem  with  imagination,  they 
palpitate  with  emotion.  We  read  them 
with  laughter  and  tears  ;  the  metres  throb 
in  our  pulses,  the  cunninglj'  ordered 
words  tingle  with  life  ;  and  if  this  be  not 
poetry,  what  is  ?  '—Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

Rudyaxd  Kipling.  THE  SEVEN 
SE.A.S.  By  RuDYARD  Kipling. 
cjth  Thousand.  Cr.  8vo.  Buckram, 
gilt  top.     6i.     Leather,  6s.  net. 

'  The  Empire  has  found  a  singer  ;  it  is  no 
depreciation  of  the  songs  to  say  that 
statesmen  may  have,  one  way  or  other, 
to  take  account  of  them.' — Mancliester 
Guaydian. 

'Animated  through  and  through  with  in- 
dubitable genius.' — Daily  Telegraph. 

"Q."  POEMS  AND  BALLADS.  By 
"Q."     Crown  Sz'o.     j.r.  6d. 


"Q."  GREEN  BAYS:  Verses  anc 
Parodies.  By"Q."  Second  Edition, 
Crown  8vo.     3^.  6d. 

E.  Mackay.  A  SONG  OF  THE  SEA. 
By  Eric  Mackay.  Second  Edition. 
Fcap.  8vo.     55. 

H.   Ibsen.      BRAND.  A  Drama  by 

Henrik     Ibsen.  Translated    by 

William  Wilson.  Third  Edition. 
Crown  8vo.     35.  6d. 

A.  D.  Godley.    LYRA  FRIVOLA.    Bv 

A.    D.    Godley,   M.A.,    Fellow    o'f 

Magdalen  College,    Oxford.     Third 

Edition.     Pott  8vo.     zs.  6d. 

'  Combines  a   pretty  wit  with   remarkably 

neat  versification.  .  .  .  Every  one  will 

wish  there  was  more  of  it.' — Times. 

A.  D.  Godley.    VERSES  TO  ORDER. 
By  A.    D.   Godley.       Crown    8vo. 
zs.  6d.  net. 
'A   capital    specimen    of    light    academic 
poetry.' — St.  James's  Gazette. 

J.  G.  Cordery.  THE  ODYSSEY  OF 
HOMER.  A  Translation  by  J.  G. 
Cordery.     Crown  8vo.    7s.  6d. 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Catalogue 


II 


Belles  Lettres,  Anthologies,  etc. 


R.  L.  Stevenson.  VAILIMA  LET- 
TERS. By  Robert  Louis  Steven- 
son. With  an  Etched  Portrait  by 
William  Strang.  Second  Edition. 
Crown  Zvo.     Buckratn.     6s. 

'A  fascinating  book.' — Standard. 

'Unique  in  Literature.' — Daily  Chronicle. 

G.Wyndliam.  THE  POEMS  OF  WIL- 
LIAM   SHAKESPEARE.       Edited 
vith   an  Introduction  and  Notes  by 
George  Wyndham,   M.P.      Deviy 
8vo.     Buckra/n,  gilt  top.     los.  6d. 
This  edition  contains  the  '  Venus,' '  Lucrece, 
and   Sonnets,  and  is  prefaced   with  an 
elaborate  introduction  of  over  140  pp. 
'We  have  no  hesitation  in  describing  Mr. 
George   Wyndham's    introduction  as   a 
masterly  piece  of  criticism,  and  all  who 
love  our  Elizabethan  literature  will  find  a 
very  garden  of  delight  in  it.' — Spectator. 

W.  E.  Henley.     ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Selected    and     Edited    by    W.     E. 

Henley.      Crown    8vo.      Gilt   top. 

Ss.  6d. 

'  It  is  a  body  of  choice  and  lovely  poetry.' — 

Bir7iiingha>n  Gazette. 

Henley  and  Whibley.  A  BOOK  OF 
ENGLISH  PROSE.  Collected  by 
W.  E.  Henley  and  Charles 
Whibley.  Crown  8vo.  Buckram, 
gilt  top.     6s. 

H.  C.  Beechmg.     LYRA  SACRA  :  An 

Anthology  of  Sacred  Verse.     Edited 

by  H.  C.   Beeching,  M.A.     Crown 

Zvo.     Buckram.     6s. 

'A  charming  selection,  which  maintains  a 

lofty  standard  of  excellence.' — Times. 

"Q."  THE  GOLDEN  POMP.  A  Pro- 
cession of  English  Lyrics.  Arranged 
by  A,  T.  QuiLLER  Couch.  Crown 
8vo.     Buckram.     6s, 

W.  B.  Yeats.     AN  ANTHOLOGY  OF 

IRISH  VERSE.     Edited  by  W.  B. 

Yeats.       /devised     and     Enlarged 

Edition.     Crown  8vo.     3^.  6d. 

'  An  attractive  and    catholic    selection.' — 

Times. 

G.  W.  Steevens.  MONOLOGUES  OF 
THE  DEAD.  By  G.  W.  Steevens. 
Foolscap  8vo.  31.  6d, 


W.    M.    Dixon.        A     PRIMER     OF 
TENNYSON.      By  W.  M.  DiXON, 
M.A.     Cr.  8vo.     zs.  6d. 
'  Much  sound  and  well-expressed  criticism. 
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W.    A.    Craigie.     A    PRIMER    OF 
BURNS.       By     W.     A.    Craigie. 
Cro7vn  8vo.     2S.  6d. 
'A  valuable  addition  to  the  literature  of  the 
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L.  Magnus.   A  PRIMER  OF  WORDS- 
WORTH.    By  Laurie   Magnus. 
Crown  8vo.    zs.  6d. 
'A  valuable  contribution  to  Wordsworthian 
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Sterne.  THE  LIFE  AND  OPINIONS 
OF  TRISTRAM  SHANDY.  By 
Lawrence  Sterne.  With  an  In- 
troduction by  Charles  Whibley, 
and  a  Portrait.     2  vols.     7s. 

Congreve.  THE  COMEDIES  OF 
WILLIAM  CONGREVE.  With  an 
Introduction  by  G.  S.  Street,  and 
a  Portrait.     2  vols.     7s. 

Morier.  THE  ADVENTURES  OF 
HAJJI  BABA  OF  ISPAHAN.  By 
James  Morier.  With  an  Introduc- 
tion by  E.  G.  Browne,  M.A.  and  a 
Portrait.     2  vols.     7s. 

Walton.  THE  LIVES  OF  DONNE, 
WOTTON,  HOOKER,  HERBERT 
and  SANDERSON.  By  Izaak 
Walton.  With  an  Introduction  by 
Vernon  Blackburn,  and  a  Por- 
trait.    35.  6d. 

Johnson.  THE  LIVES  OF  THE 
ENGLISH  POETS.  By  Samuel 
Johnson,  LL.  D.  With  an  Intro- 
duction by  J.  H.  Millar,  and  a  Por- 
trait.    3  vols.  xos.  6d. 

Bums.  THE  POEMS  OF  ROBERT 
BURNS.  Editedby  Andrew  Lang 
and  W.  A.  Craigie.  With  Portrait. 
Second  Edition.  Demy  8vo,  gilt  top. 
6s. 
'Among  editions  in  one  volume,  this  will 
take  the  place  of  authority.'— T'/wm. 


12 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Catalogue 


F.  Langbridge.  BALLADS  OF  THE 
BR.A.VE;  Poems  of  Chivalry,  Enter- 
prise, Courage,  and  Constancy. 
Edited  by    Rev.    F.    Langbridge. 


Second  Edition.     Cr.   Sva.  y.   6d. 
School  Edition.     2S.  6d. 

'The  book  is  full   of   splendid  things.' — 
li^orld. 


/ilbetbucn's  Stan&ar&  Uibrarg 


Dante.       LA      COMMEDIA      DI 

DAXTE  ALIGHIERL    The  Italian 

Text    edited  by   Paget  Toynbee, 

M.A.      CroTdun  8vo.     6s. 

'  A    carefully-revised     text,    printed     with 

beautiful  clearness.' — Gias^ozv  Herald. 

Gibbon.      THE      DECLINE     AND 
FALL  OF  THE  ROMAN  EMPIRE. 
By  Edward  Gibbon".     A  New  Edi- 
tion, Edited  with  Notes,  Appendices, 
and  Maps,  by  J.  B.  Bury,  LL.D., 
Fellow  of  Trinity  College,    Dublin. 
In  Sroen  Volumes.    Demy  ?>vo.     Gilt 
top.    8j.  6d.  each.    Also  Cr.  8vo.     6s. 
each. 
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edition  of  Gibbon's  great  work.  .  .  .  Pro- 
fessor Bury  is  the  right  man  to  under- 
take this  task.     His  learning  is  amazing, 
both  in  extent  and  accuracy.     The  book 
is  issued  in   a  bandy  form,   and  at  a 
moderate    price,    and    it   is    admirably 
printed. ' —  Times. 
'  At  last  there  is  an  adequate  modern  edition 
of  Gibbon.    .   .    .    The  best   edition  the 
nineteenth    century    could    produce. — 
Manchester  Guardian. 
'  .^  great  piece  of  editing.' — Academy. 
'The  greatest  of  English,   perhaps  of  all, 
historians  has  never   been  presented  to 
the   public   in   a   more  convenient   and 
attractive  form.     Ko  higher  praise  can 
be  bestowed  upon  Professor  Bury  than 
to  say,  as  may  be  said  with  truth,  that 
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and  Milman.' — Daily  Xezfs. 

C.  G.  Crump.     THE  HISTORY  OF 
THE   LIFE    OF   THOMAS    ELL- 


WOOD.     Edited  by  C.  G.  Crump, 
M.A.     Crozun  8vo.     6s. 

This  edition  is  the  only  one  which  contains 
the  complete  book  as  originally  pub- 
lished. It  contains  a  long  Introduction 
and  many  Footnotes. 

'  "  The  Historj'of  Thomas  Ell  wood  "holds  a 
high  place  among  the  masterpieces  of 
autobiography,  and  we  know  few  books 
that  better  deserve  reprinting.  More- 
over, Mr.  C.  G.  Crump's  new  edition  is 
accurate  and  convenient,  and  we  com- 
mend it  ungrudgingly  to  all  those  who 
love  sound  and  vigorous  English.' 

— Daily  Mail. 

Tennyson.  THE  EARLY  POEMS  OF 
ALFRED,  LORD  TENNYSON, 
Edited,  with  Notes  and  an  Introduc- 
tion by  J.  Churton  Collins,  M.A. 
CrozL'n  8vo.     6s. 

An  elaborate  edition  of  the  celebrated 
volume  which  was  published  in  its 
final  and  definitive  form  in  1S53.  This 
edition  contains  a  long  Introduction  and 
copious  Notes,  textual  and  explanatory. 
It  also  contains  in  an  Appendix  all 
the  Poems  which  Tennyson  afterwards 
omitted. 

'  Mr.  Collins  is  almost  an  ideal  editor  of 
Tennyson.  His  qualities  as  a  critic  are 
an  exact  and  accurate  scholarship,  and 
a  literary  judgment,  which  has  been 
trained  and  polished  by  the  closest  study 
of  classics  both  ancient  and  modern, 
^vlr.  Collins'  introduction  is  a  thoroughly 
sound  and  sane  appreciation  of  the 
merits  and  demerits  of  Tennyson.' — 
Literature. 


Gbc  1Ucrk5  of  Sbaftespeare 

General  Editor,  Edward  Dowden,  Litt.  D. 

Messrs.   Methuen  have  in  preparation  an  Edition  of  Shakespeare  in 
single  Plays.     Each  play  will  be  edited  with  a  full   Introduction,    Textual 
Notes,  and  a  Commentary  at  the  foot  of  the  page. 
The  first  volume  is  : 


HAMLET.        Edited     by     EDWARD 
Dowden.     Demy  8to.    3^.  6d. 


[An    admirable    edition. 


A    comely 


volume,  admirably  printed  and  produced, 
and   containing   all   that    a  student    of 
"  Hamlet "  need  require.' — Speaker. 
'  Fully  up  to  the  level  of  recent  scholarship, 
both  English  and  German. — Academy. 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Catalogue  13 

Zbc  IRovcls  of  Gbarles  Dicftens 

Crown  Svo.  Each  Volume,  cloth  1$.  net ;  leather  i,s.  6d.  net. 
Messrs.  Methuen  have  in  preparation  an  edition  of  those  novels  of  Charles 
Dickens  which  have  now  passed  out  of  copyright.  Mr.  George  Gissing, 
whose  critical  study  of  Dickens  is  both  sympathetic  and  acute,  has  written  an 
Introduction  to  each  of  the  books,  and  a  very  attractive  feature  of  this  edition 
will  be  the  illustrations  of  the  old  houses,  inns,  and  buildings,  which  Dickens 
described,  and  which  have  now  in  many  instances  disappeared  under  the 
touch  of  modern  civilisation.  Another  valuable  feature  will  be  a  series  ot 
topographical  and  general  notes  to  each  book  by  Mr.  F.  G.  Kitton.  The  books 
will  be  produced  with  the  greatest  care  as  to  printing,  paper  and  binding. 

The  first  volumes  are  : 
THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS.    With  Illustrations  by  E.  H.  New.    Two  Volumes. 
'  As  pleasant  a  copy  as  any  one  could  desire.     The  notes  add  much  to  the  value  of  the 
edition,  and  Mr.  New's  illustrations  are  also  historical.     The  volumes  promise  well 
for  the  success  of  the  sd'nion.'—Scoisman. 

Zbe  Xlttlc  Xibrarg 

'The  volumes  are  compact  in  size,  printed  on  thin  but  good  paper  in  clear  type, 
prettily  and  at  the  same  time  strongly  bound,  and  altogether  good  to  look  upon  and 
handle.' — Outlook. 

Pott  Zvo.     Each  Volume,  cloth  \s.  6d.  net,  leather  2s.  6d.  net. 

Messrs.  Methuen  intend  to  produce  a  series  of  small  books  under  the 
above  title,  containing  some  of  the  famous  books  in  English  and  other 
literatures,  in  the  domains  of  fiction,  poetry,  and  belles  lettres.  The  series 
will  also  contain  several  volumes  of  selections  in  prose  and  verse. 

The  books  will  be  edited  with  the  most  sympathetic  and  scholarly  care. 
Each  one  will  contain  an  Introduction  which  will  give  (i)  a  short  biography  of 
the  author,  (2)  a  critical  estimate  of  the  book.  Where  they  are  necessary, 
short  notes  will  be  added  at  the  foot  of  the  page. 

Each  book  will  have  a  portrait  or  frontispiece  in  photogravure,  and  the 
volumes  will  be  produced  with  great  care  in  a  style  uniform  with  that  of  '  The 
Library  of  Devotion.' 


The  first  volumes  are  : 

VANITY  FAIR.     By  W.  M.  Thack- 
eray.    With  an  Introduction  by  S. 
GwYNN.       Illustrated     by     G.      P. 
Jacomb  Hood.     Three  Volumes. 
'  Delightful     little     \o\nmes.'—Pul>/ishers' 
Circular. 

THE  PRINCE.SS.  By  Alfred,  Lord 
Tennyson.  Edited  by  Elizabeth 
Wordsworth.  Illustrated  by  W. 
E.  F.  Britten. 

'Just  what  a  pocket  edition  should  be. 
Miss  Wordsworth  contributes  an  accept- 
able introduction,  as  well  as  notes  which 
one  is  equally  glad  to  get.'— Guardian. 


IN  MEMORIAM.  By  Alfred,  Lord 
Tennyson.  Edited,  with  an  Intro- 
duction and  Notes,  by  H.  C.  Beech- 
ING,  M.A. 

'An  exquisite  little  volume,  which  will  be 
gladly  welcomed.' — Glasgow  Herald. 

'The  introduction,  an.ilysis,  and  notes  by 
the  Rev.  H.  C.  Beeching  are  all  of  the 
sound  literary  quality  that  was  to  be 
expected.' — Guardian. 

'The  footnotes  are  scholarly,  interesting, 
and  not  super-abundant." — Standard. 

'  It  is  difficult  to  conceive  a  more  attractive 
edition.' — St.  James's  Gazette. 


14 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Catalogue 


tTbe  3Llttle  ©uioes 


Pott  Svo,  cloth  35.  ; 

OXFORD    AND    ITS    COLLEGES. 
By  J.   Wells,    M.A.,    Fellow    and 
Tutor  of  Wadham  College.      Illus- 
trated by  E.  H.  New.   Third  Edition. 
'  An  admirable  and  accurate  little  treatise, 

attractively  illustrated.' — World. 
'Aluminous  and  tasteful  little  volume.' — 
Daily  Chronicle. 

CAMBRIDGE      AND      ITS      COL- 
LEGES.   By  A.  Hamilton  Thomp- 
son.    Illustrated  by  E.  \\.  New. 
'  It  is  brightly  written  and  learned,  and  is 
just  such  a  book  as  a  cultured  visitor 
needs. ' — Scotsman. 


leather,  y.  6d.  net. 

SHAKESPEARE'S  COUNTRY.  By 
B.  C.  WiNDLE,  F.R.S.,  M.A.  Illus- 
trated by  E.  H.  New.  Second  Edition. 

'  Mr.  Windle  is  thoroughly  conversant  with 
his  subject,  and  the  work  is  exceedingly 
well  done.  The  drawings,  by  Mr. 
Edmund  H.  New,  add  much  to  the 
attractiveness  of  the  volume.' — Scots- 
man. 

'  One  of  the  most  charming  guide  books. 
Both  for  the  library  and  as  a  travelling 
companion  the  book  is  equally  choice 
and  serviceable.' — Academy. 

'  A  guide  book  of  the  best  kind,  which 
takes  rank  as  literature.' — Guardian. 


Illustrated  and  Gift  Books 


PWl     May.        THE     PHIL     MAY 
ALBUM.     4^.     6s. 
'  There   is   a    laugh    in    each    drawing.' — 
Standard. 

A.   H.  Milne.     ULYSSES;    OR,    DE 
ROUGEMONT    OF   TROY.      De- 
scribed and  depicted  by  A.  H.MiLNE. 
Small  quarto.     35.  6^. 
'  Clever,  droll,  smart.' — Guardian. 

Edmund  Selous.    TOMMY  SMITH'S 

ANIMALS.     By  Edmund  Selous. 

Illustrated  by  G.  W.  Ord.  Fcap.  Bvo. 

2S.  6d. 

A   little   book   designed  to  teach  children 

respect  and  reverence  for  animals. 
'A  quaint,  fascinating  little  book:  a  nur- 
sery classic' — Aihetii^um. 

S.  Baring  Gould.    THE  CROCK  OF 
GOLD.      Fairy   Stories   told   by  S. 
Baring  Gould.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 
'  Twelve  delightful  fairy  tales.' — Punch. 

m.  L.  Gwynn.    A  HI  RTHDAY  BOOK. 

Arranged    and    Edited     by    M,    L. 

Gwynn,     Bemy  8vo.     12s.  6d. 

This    is   a    birthday-book    of   exceptional 

dignity,   and    the    extracts    have    been 

chosen  with  particular  care. 

Jobn  Bunyan.  THE  PILGRIM'S 
PROGRESS.  By  John  Bunyan. 
Edited,  with  an  Introduction,  by  C.  H. 


Firth,  M.A.  With  39  Illustrations 
by  R.  Anning  Bell.  Crown  Bvo.  6s. 
'  The  best  "  Pilgrim's  Progress."' — 

Educational  Times. 

F.  D.  Bedford.  NURSERY  RHYMES. 
With  many  Coloured  Pictures  by  F. 
D.  Bedford.    Super  Royal  8vo.    55. 

S.  Baring  Gould.  A  BOOK  OF 
FAIRY  TALES  retold  by  S.  Baring 
Gould.  With  numerous  Illustra- 
tions and  Initial  Letters  by  Arthur 
J.  Gaskin.  Second  Edition.  Cr.  8vo. 
Buckram.     6s. 

S.  Baring  Gould.  OLD  ENGLISH 
FAIRY  TALES.  Collected  and 
edited  by  S.  Baring  Gould.  With 
Numerous  Illustrations  by  F.  D. 
Bedford.  Second  Edition.  Cr.  Zvo. 
Buckra^n.  6s. 
'A  charming  volume.' — Guardian. 

S.  Baring  Gould.  A  BOOK  OF 
NURSERY  SONGS  AND 
RHYMES.  Edited  by  S.  Baring 
Gould,  and  Illustrated  by  the  Bir- 
mingham Art  School.  Buckram,  gilt 
top.     Crown  Bvo.     6s. 

H.  C.  Beaching.  A  BOOK  OF 
CHRISTMAS  VERSE.  Edited  by 
H.  C.  Beeching,  M.A.,  and  Illus- 
trated by  Walter  Crane.  Cr.  Bvo, 
gilt  top.     3i.  6d. 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Catalogue 


15 


History 


ninders  Petrie.  A  HISTORY  OF 
EGYPT, FKOM  THE  EarliestTimes 
TO  THE  Present  Day.  Edited  by 
W.  M.  Flinders  Petrie,  D.C.L., 
LL.D. ,  Professor  of  Egyptology  at 
University  College.  Fully  Illustrated. 
In  Six  Volumes,     Cr.  Zvo.     (iS.  each. 

Vol.  I.  Prehistoric  Times  to 
XVlTH  Dynasty.  W.  M.  F. 
Petrie.     Fourth  Edition. 

Vol.     II.     The    XVIIth    and 

XVIIlTH  Dynasties.     W.  M. 

F.  Petrie.     Third  Edition. 
Vol.   IV.  The    Egypt    of   the 

Ptolemies.    J.  P.  Mahaffy. 
Vol,  V.    Roman  Egypt.     J.  G. 

Milne. 
'  A  history  written  in  the  spirit  of  scientific 
precision  so  worthily  represented  by  Dr. 
Petrie  and  his  school  cannot  but  pro- 
mote sound  and  accurate  study,  and 
supply  a  vacant  place  in  the  English 
literature  of  Egyptology.' — Times. 

ninders  Petrie.      RELIGION  AND 
CONSCIENCE      IN      ANCIENT 
EGYPT.       By    W.    M.   Flinders 
Petrie,  D.C.L.,  LL.D.     Fully  Illus- 
trated.    Crown  Svo.     2S.  6d. 
'  The  lectures  will  afford  a  fund  of  valuable 
information    for    students    of    ancient 
ethics.' — Manchester  Guardian. 

Flinders     Petrie.        SYRIA     AND 

EGYPT,  FROM  THE  TELL   EL 

AMARNA  TABLETS.     By  W.  M. 

Flinders  Petkie,  D.C. L.,  LL.D. 

Crown  8vo.     2S.  6d. 

'  A  marvellous  record.     The  addition  made 

to  our  knowledge  is   nothing   short   of 

amazing. ' —  Times. 

Flinders  Petrie.  EGYPTIAN  TALES. 

Edited  by  W.  M.  Flinders  Petrie. 

Illustrated  by  Tristram  Ellis,    /n 

Two  Volumes.     Cr.  8vo.     ^s.  6d.  each. 

'  Invaluable  as  a  picture  of  life  in  Palestine 

and  Egypt.' — Daily  News. 


Hinders  Petrie.  EGYPTIAN  DECO- 
RATIVE ART.  By  W.  M.  Flin- 
ders Petrie.  With  120  Illustrations. 
Cr.  ^vo.     35.  6d. 

'  In  these  lectures  he  displays  rare  skill  in 
elucidating  the  development  of  decora- 
tive art  in  Egypt.' — Times. 

C.  W.  Oman.  A  HISTORY  OF  THE 
ART  OF  WAR.  Vol.  11.  :  The 
Middle  Ages,  from  the  Fourth  to  the 
Fourteenth  Century.  By  C.  W. 
Oman,  M.A.,  Fellow  of  All  Souls', 
Oxford.   Illustrated.    Demy  8vo.    21s. 

'  The  whole  art  of  war  in  its  historic  evolu- 
tion has  never  been  treated  on  such  an 
ample  and  comprehensive  scale,  and  we 
question  if  any  recent  contribution  to 
the  exact  history  of  the  world  has  pos- 
sessed more  enduring  value.' — Daily 
Chronicle. 

S.  Baring  Gould.  THE  TRAGEDY 
OF  THE  C/E.SARS.  With  nume- 
rous Illustrations  from  Busts,  Gems, 
Cameos,  etc.  ByS.  Baring  Gould. 
Fourth  Edition.     Royal  &vo.     i^s. 

'A  most  splendid  and  fascinating  book  on  a 
subject  of  undying  interest.  The  great 
feature  of  the  book  is  the  use  the  author 
has  made  of  the  existing  portraits  of 
the  Caesars  and  the  admirable  critical 
subtlety  he  has  exhibited  in  dealing  with 
this  line  of  research.  It  is  brilliantly 
written,  and  the  illustrations  are  sup- 
plied on  a  scale  of  profuse  magnificence.' 
— Daily  Chronicle. 

F.  W.  Maitland.  CANON  LAW  IN 
ENGLAND.  By  F.  W.  Maitland, 
LL.D.,  Downing  Professor  of  the 
Laws  of  England  in  the  University 
of  Cambridge.     Royal  Svo.     7s.  6d. 

'  Professor  Maitland  has  put  students  of 
English  law  under  a  fresh  debt.  'Ihese 
essays  are  landmarks  in  the  study  of  the 
history  of  Canon  Law.' — Times. 


i6 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Catalogue 


H.  de  B.  Gibbins.  INDUSTRY  IN 
ENGLAND  :  HISTORICAL  OUT- 
LINES. Bv  H.  DE  B.  Gibbins, 
Litt.D.,  M.A'.  With  5  Maps.  Se- 
cond Edition.     Demy  Svo.     los.  6d. 

H.  E.  Egerton,  A  HISTORY  OF 
BRITISH  COLONIAL  POLICY. 
By  H.  E.  Egerton,  M,A.  Demy 
8vo.     12s.  6d. 

'  It  is  a  good  book,  distinguished  by  accu- 
racy in  detail,  clear  arrangement  of  facts, 
and  a  broad  grasp  of  principles.' — 
Manchester  Guardian. 

Albert  Sorel.  THE  EASTERN 
QUESTION  IN  THE  EIGH- 
TEENTH CENTURY.  By  Albert 
Sorel.  Translated  by  F.  C.  Bram- 
WELL.  M.A.     Cr.  Zvo.     -xs.  Qd. 


C.   H.   Grinling.     A    HISTORY    OF 
THE  GREAT  NORTHERN  RAIL- 
WAY,   1845-95.     By  C.   H.   Grin- 
ling.  With  Illustrations.    DemyZvo. 
loj.  dd. 
'  Mr.  Grinling  has  done  for  a  Railway  what 
Macaulay  did  for   English   Historj-.' — 
The  Engineer. 

W.  Sterry.  ANNALS  OF  ETON 
COLLEGE.  By  W.  Sterry,  M.A. 
With  numerous  Illustrations.  Demy 
8zv.     ys.  6d. 

'  A  treasury  of  quaint  and  interesting  read- 
ing. Mr.  Sterry  has  by  his  skill  and 
vivacity  given  these  records  new  life.' — 
Ac(uie>':j. 

G.W.Fisher.  ANNALS  OF  SHREWS- 
BURY    SCHOOL.         By    G.     W. 
Fisher,  M..\.    With  numerous  Illus- 
trations.    Demy  Zvo.     10s.  6d. 
'This     careful,      erudite      book." — Daily 

Chronicle. 
'  A  book  of  which  Old  Salopians  are  sure 
to  be  proud.' — Globe. 

J.  Sargeaunt.  ANNALS  OF  WEST- 
MINSTER SCHOOL.  By  J.  S.\R- 
geaunt,  M.A.  With  numerous 
Illustrations.     Demy  8vo.     js.  6d. 


A.  Clark.  THE  COLLEGES  OF 
OXFORD :  Their  History  and  their 
Traditions.  Edited  by  A.  Cl.ark, 
M.A. ,  Fellow  of  Lincoln  College. 
8:^.     I2S.  6d. 

'  A  work  which  will  be  appealed  to  for 
many  years  as  the  standard  book.' — 
A  thenteum. 

T.M.  Taylor.  A  CONSTITUTIONAL 
AND  POLITICAL  HISTORY  OF 
ROME.  By  T.  M.  Taylor,  M.  A., 
Fellow  of  Gonville  and  Caius  College, 
Cambridge.     Crown  8vo.     ■js.  6d. 

'  We  fully  recognise  the  value  of  this  care- 
fully written  work,  and  admire  especially 
the  fairness  and  sobriety  of  his  judgment 
and  the  human  interest  with  which  he 
has  inspired  a  subject  which  in  some 
hands  becomes  a  mere  series  of  cold 
abstractions.  It  is  a  work  that  will  be 
stimulating  to  the  student  of  Roman 
historj-.'— .4  ihencFttm. 

J.  Wells.  A  SHORT  HISTORY  OF 
ROME.  By  J.  Wells,  M.A.. 
Fellow  and  Tutor  of  Wadham  Coll. , 
Oxford.  T/iird  Edition.  With  3 
Maps.     Crow7!  8zio.     35'.  6d. 

This  book  is  intended  for  the  Middle  and 
Upper  Forms  of  Public  Schools  and  for 
Pass  Students  at  the  Universities.  It 
contains  copious  Tables,  etc. 

'  An  original  work  WTitten  on  an  original 
plan,  and  with  uncommon  freshness  and 
vigour. ' — Speaker. 

0.  Browning.  A  SHORT  HISTORY 
OF  MEDL^VAL  ITALY,  a.D. 
1250-1530.  By  Oscar  Browning, 
Fellow  and  Tutor  of  King's  College, 
Cambridge.  In  Two  Volufnes.  Cr. 
8vo.     55.  each. 

Vol.  I.   1250-1409. — Guelphs  and 
Ghibellines. 


Vol.   II.   1409-1530. 
the  Condottieri. 


-The  Age  of 


O'Grady.  THE  STORY  OF  IRE- 
L.ANTD.  By  Standish  O'Grady, 
Author  of '  Finn  and  his  Companions. 
Crown  8vo.     zs.  6d. 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Catalogue 


17 


ass5antine  tlejts 

Edited  by  J.  B.  BURY,  M.A. 


ZACHARIAH  OF  MITYLENE. 
Translated  into  English  by  F.  J. 
Hamilton,  D.D.,  and  E.  W. 
Brooks.    Demy  2>zo.     12s.  6d.  net. 

EVAGRIUS.      Edited    by    Professor 


L^ox  Parmentier  and  M.  Bidez. 
Demy  8vo.     10s.  6d.  net. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  PSELLUS. 
By  C.  Sathas.  Demy  Sva.  15J. 
net. 


Biography 


R.  L.  Stevenson.  THE  LETTERS 
OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVEN- 
SON TO  HIS  FAMILY  AND 
FRIENDS.  Selected  and  Edited, 
with  Notes  and  Introductions,  by 
Sidney  Colvix.  TAird  Edition. 
Demy  8vo,  2  vols.,  25J.  yiet. 

'Irresistible  in  their  raciness,  their  variety, 
their  animation  ...  of  extraordinarj' 
fascination.  A  delightful  inheritance, 
the  truest  record  of  a  "richly  com- 
pounded spirit ''  that  the  literature  of 
our  time  has  preserved.' — Times. 

'There  are  few  books  so  interesting,  so 
moving,  and  so  valuable  as  this  collec- 
tion of  letters.  One  can  only  commend 
people  to  read  and  re-read  the  book.  The 
volumes  are  beautiful,  and  Mr.  Colvin's 
part  of  the  work  could  not  have  been 
better  done,  his  introduction  is  a  master- 
piece.'— Spectator. 

J.  G.  MiUais.  THE  LIFE  AND 
LETTERS  OF  SIR  JOHN 
EVERETT  MILLAIS,  President  of 
the  Royal  Academy.  By  his  Son, 
J.  G.  MiLLAis.  With  319  Illus- 
trations, of  which  9  are  in  Photo- 
gravure. Second  Edition,  2  vols. 
Royal  8vo,  32J.  net. 

'  The  illustrations  make  the  book  delightful 
to  handle  or  to  read.  The  eye  lingers 
lovingly  upon  the  beautiful  pictures.' — 
Standard. 

'  This  charming  book  is  a  gold  mine  of  good 
things.'— Z'a//)'  News. 

A 


'  This  splendid  work.' — World. 

'  Of  such  absorbing  interest  is  it,  of  such 
completeness  in  scope  and  beautj'. 
Special  tribute  must  be  paid  to  the 
extraordinary  completeness  of  the  illus- 
trations. ' — Graphic. 

S.   Baring  Gould.    THE    LIFE    OF 

NAPOLEON    BONAPARTE.     By 

S.  Baring  Gould.    With  over  450 

Illustrations    in    the    Text    and     12 

Photogravure  Plates.     Large  quarto. 

Gilt  top.     36J. 

'The  main  feature  of  this  gorgeous  volume 

is  its  great  wealth   of  beautiful    photo- 

graNtires     and     finely  -  executed     wood 

engravings,     constituting     a     complete 

pictorial    chronicle     of    Napoleon    I.'s 

personal  history'  from  the  days  of  his  early 

childhood  at  A'accio  to  the  date  of  his 

second  interment.' — Daily  Teligraph. 

P.  H.  Colomb.  MEMOIRS  OF  AD- 
MIRAL SIR  A.  COOPER  KEY. 
By  Admiral  P.  H.  COLOMB.  With 
a  Portrait.     Demy  8vo.     xds. 

Morris  FuUer.  THE  LIFE  AND 
WRITINGS  OF  JOHN  DAVEN- 
ANT,  D.D.  (1571-1641).  Bishop  of 
Salisbury.  By  Morris  Fuller, 
B.  D.     Demy  8vo.     10s.  6d, 

J.  M.  Rigg.  ST.  ANSELM  OF 
CANTERBURY:  A  Chapter  in 
the  History  of  Religion.  By 
J.  M.  RiGG.     Demy  8w,     7s.  6d. 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Catalogue 


F.  W.  Joyce.  THE  LIFE  OF 
SIR  FREDERICK  GORE  OUSE- 
LEY.   By  F.  W.  Joyce,  M.A.  -js.ed. 

W.  G.  Collingwood.  THE  LIFE  OF 
JOHN  RUSKIN.  By  W.  G. 
Collingwood,  M.A.  With  Por- 
traits, and  13  Drawings  by  Mr. 
Ruskin.  Second  Edition.  2  vols. 
8vo.  32i.  Cheap  Edition.  Crown 
8vo.     6s. 

C.  Waldstein.  JOHN  RUSKIN,  By 
Charles  Waldsteix,  M.A.  With 
a  PhotogravTire  Portrait,  PostSvo.  55. 

A.  M.  F.  Darmesteter,  THE  LIFE 
OF      ERNEST      RENAN.        By 


Madame     Darmesteter.      With 
Portrait.  Second  Edition.  Cr.Svo.  6s, 

W.  H.  Button.  THE  LIFE  OF  SIR 
THOMAS  MORE.  By  W.  H. 
HUTTON,  M.A.  With  Portraits. 
Second  Edition.     Cr.  %vo.     5J. 

'  The  book  lays  good  claim  to  high  rank 
among  our  biographies.  It  is  excellently, 
even  lovingly,  written.' — Scotsman. 

S.  Baring  Gould.  THE  VICAR  OF 
MORWENSTOW:  A  Biography. 
By  S.  Baring  Gould,  M.A.  A 
new  and  Revised  Edition.  With 
Portrait.     Crown  Zvo.     3^.  6d. 

A  completely  new  edition  of  the  well  knowa 
biography  of  R.  S.  Hawker. 


Travel,  Adventure  and  Topography 


Sven  Hedin.  THROUGH  ASIA.  By 
SVEN  Hedin,  Gold  Medallist  of  the 
Royal  Geographical  Society.  With 
300  Illustrations  from  Sketches 
and  Photographs  by  the  Author, 
and  Maps,  zvois.  Royal  8vo.  20s.net. 

'One  of  the  greatest  books  of  the  kind 
issued  during  the  centurj-.  It  is  im- 
possible to  give  an  adequate  idea  of  the 
richness  of  the  contents  of  this  book, 
nor  of  its  abounding  attractions  as  a  story 
of  travel  unsurpassed  in  geographical 
and  human  interest.  Much  of  it  is  a 
revelation.  Altogether  the  work  is  one 
which  in  solidity,  novelty,  and  interest 
must  take  a  first  rank  among  publica- 
tions of  its  class.' — Times. 

F.  H.  Skrine  and  E.  D.  Ross.     THE 

HEART  OF  ASIA.  By  F.  H. 
Skrine  and  E.  D.  Ross.  With 
Maps  and  many  Illustrations  by 
Verestchagin.  Large  Crown  8vo. 
los.  6d.  net. 
'  This  volume  will  form  a  landmark  in  our 


knowledge  of  Central  Asia.  .  .  .  Illumin- 
ating and  convincing.' — Times. 

R.  E.  Peary.     NORTHWARD  OVER 
THE  GREAT  ICE.  By  R.E.Peary, 
Gold  Medallist  of  the  Royal  Geogra- 
phical Society.     With  over  800  Illus- 
trations,   "zvols.    RoyalZvo.    32^.  net. 
'  His  book  will  take  its  place  among  the  per- 
manent literature  of  Arctic  exploration.' 
—  Times. 

E.  A.  FitzGerald.  THE  HIGHEST 
ANDES.  By  E.  A.  FitzGerald. 
With  2  Maps,  51  Illustrations,  13  of 
which  are  in  Photogravure,  and  a 
Panorama.  Royal  8vo,  305.  net. 
Also  a  Small  Edition  on  Hand-made 
Paper,    limited    to    50  Copies,    ^to, 

£5.  5-f. 
'  The  record  of  the  first  ascent  of  the  highest 
mountain  yet  conquered  by  mortal  man. 
A  volume  which  will  continue  to  be  the 
classic  book  of  travel  on  this  region  of 
the  Andes.' — Daily  Chronicle. 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Catalogue 


19 


F.  W.  Cliriatian.  THE  CAROLINE 
ISLANDS.  By  F.  W.  Christian. 
With  many  Illustrations  and  Maps. 
Detny  Svo.     12s.  6d,  net. 

'A  real  contribution  to  our  knowledge  of 
the  peoples  and  islands  of  Micronesia, 
as  well  as  fascinating  as  a  narrative  of 
travels  and  adventure.' — Scotsman. 

H.  H.  Johnston.  BRITISH  CEN- 
TRAL AFRICA.  By  Sir  H.  H. 
Johnston,  K.C.B.  With  nearly 
Two  Hundred  Illustrations,  and  Six 
Maps.  Second  Edition.  Crown  ^to. 
185.  Jiet. 

'  A  fascinating  book,  written  with  equal 
skill  and  charm — the  work  at  once  of  a 
literary  artist  and  of  a  man  of  action 
who  is  singularly  wise,  brave,  and  ex- 
perienced. It  abounds  in  admirable 
sketches. ' —  Wesintinsier  Gazette. 

L.  Decle.  THREE  YEARS  IN 
SAVAGE  AFRICA.  By  Lionel 
Decle.  With  100  Illustrations  and 
5  Maps.  Second  Edition.  DcmyZzj. 
10s.  6d.  net. 

'Its  bright  pages  give  a  better  general 
survey  of  Africa  from  the  Cape  to  the 
Equator  than  any  single  volume  that 
has  yet  been  published.' — Times. 

A.  Hulme  Beaman.  TWENTY 
YEARS  IN  THE  NEAR  EAST. 
By  A.  HuLME  Beaman.  Demy 
Svo.     With  Portrait.     lo^.  6d. 

Henri  of  Orleans.  FROM  TONKIN 
TO  INDIA.  By  Pkinck  Henri  of 
Orleans.  Translated  by  Hamley 
Bent,  M.A.  With  100  Illustrations 
and  a  Map.     Cr.  ^to,  gilt  top.     25s. 

S.  L.  Hinde.  THE  FALL  OF  THE 
CONGO  ARABS.  By  S.  L.  Hinde. 
With  Plans,  etc.    Demy  Svo.    12s.  6d. 

A.  St.  H.  Gibbons.  EXPLORATION 
AND  HUNTING  IN  CENTRAL 
AFRICA.  By  Major  A-  St.  H. 
Gibbons.  With  full-page  Illustra- 
tions by  C.  Whympek,  and  Maps. 
Demy  Svo.     15  J. 


Fraser.  ROUND  THE  WORLD 
ON  A  WHEEL.  By  John  Foster 
Fraser.  With  100  Illustrations. 
Crown  Svo,     6s. 

'  A  classic  of  cycling,  graphic  and  witty.' — 
Yorkshire  Post. 

R.  L,  Jefferson.  A  NEW  RIDE  TO 
KHIVA.  By  R.  L.  Jefferson. 
Illustrated.     Crown  Svo,  6s. 

The  account  of  an  adventurous  ride  on  a 
bicycle  through  Russia  and  the  deserts 
of  Asia  to  Khiva. 

'  An  e.vceptionally  fascinating  book  of 
travel.'— />«//  Mall  Gazette. 

J.  K.  Trotter.  THE  NIGER 
SOURCES.  By  Colonel  J.  K. 
Trotter,   R.A.     With  a  Map  and 

Illustrations.     Crown  Svo.     ^s. 

Michael  Davitt.  LIFE  AND  PRO- 
GRESS IN  AUSTRALASIA.  By 
Michael  Davitt,  M.P.  500  pp. 
With  2  Maps.     Croivn  Svo.     6s. 

W.  J.  GaUoway.  ADVANCED  AUS- 
TRALIA. By  William  J.  Gal- 
loway, M.P.     Crown  Svo.     3^.  6d. 

'  This  is  an  unusally  thorough  and  informa- 
tive little  work.' — Morning  Post. 

W.  Crooke.  THE  NORTH- 
WESTERN PROVINCES  OF 
INDIA :  Their  Ethnology  and 
Administration.  By  W.  Crooke. 
With  Maps  and  Illustrations.  Demy 
Svo.     10s.  6d. 

A.  Boisragon.  THE  BENIN  MAS- 
SACRE. By  Captain  Boisragon. 
Second  Edition.     Cr.  Svo.     y.  6d. 

'  If  the  story  had  been  written  four  hundred 
years  ago  it  would  be  read  to-day  as  an 
English  classic' — Scotsman. 

H.  S.  Cowper.  THE  HILL  OF  THE 
GRACES:  or,  the  Great  Stone 
Templf.s  of  Tripoli.  By  H.  S. 
Cowi'ER,  F.S.A.  With  Maps,  Plans, 
and75  Illustrations.  DeinySno.  \os.6d. 


20 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Catalogue 


W.  B.  Worsfold.     SOUTH  AFRICA. 

By  W.  B.  Worsfold,  M.A.     With 

a  Map.  Second  Edition.    Cr.  Svo.    6s. 

'  A   monumental   work  compressed  into  a 

very  moderate  compass.' — World. 

Katherine  and  Gilbert  Macquoid.  IN 
PARIS.  By  Katherine  and  Gil- 
bert M.^CQUOID.  Illustrated  by 
Thom.\s  R.  Macquoid,  R.I.  With 
2  maps.  Crown  %vo.  is. 
'A  useful  little  guide,  judiciously  supplied 
with  information.' — A  thena-um. 


A.  H.  Keane.  THE  BOER  STATES: 
A  History  and  Description  of  the 
Transvaal  and  the  Orange  Free  State. 
By  A.  H.  Keane,  M.A.  With 
Alap.     Crown  8vo,     6s, 

'  A  work  of  clear  aims  and  thorough  execu- 
tion. ' — A  cadeiny. 

'  A  compact  and  very  trustworthy  account 
of  the  Boers  and  their  surroundings.' 

— Morning  Post, 


Naval  and  Military 


G.  S.  Robertson.  CHITRAL:  The 
Story  of  a  Minor  Siege.  By  Sir 
G.  S.  Robertson,  K. C.S.I.     With 

numerouslllustrations,  Map  and  Plans. 
Second  Edition.    Demy'&vo.    ios.6d. 

'  It  is  difficult  to  imagine  the  kind  of  person 
who  could  read  this  brilliant  book  without 
emotion.  The  story  remains  immortal — 
a  testimony  imperishable.  We  are  face 
to  face  with  a  great  \>oqV.' —Illustrated 
London  Kcivs. 

'  A  book  which  the  Elizabethans  would  have 
thought  wonderful.  More  thrilling,  more 
piquant,  and  more  human  than  any 
novel. ' — Newcastle  Chronicle. 

'As  fascinating  as  Sir  Walter  Scott's  best 
fiction.' — Daily  Telegraph. 

R.  S.  S.  Baden-PoweU.  THE  DOWN- 
FALL OF  PREMPEH.  A  Diary  of 
Life  in  Ashanti,  1895.  By  Maj.-Gen. 
Baden-Powell.  With  21  Illustra- 
tions and  a  Map.  Cheaper  Edition. 
Large  Crown  Svo.     6s. 

R.  S.  S.  Baden-PoweU.  THE  MATA- 
BELE  CAMPAIGN,  1896.  By  Maj.- 
Gen.  B.\den- Powell.  With  nearly 
100  Illustrations.  Cheaper  Edition. 
Large  Crown  2>vo.     6s. 

J.  B.  Atkins.  THE  RELIEF  OF 
LADYSMITH.  By  John  Black 
Atkins.  With  16  Plans  and  Illus- 
trations. Second  Edition,  Crown 
Svo.  6s. 
This  book  contains  a  full  narrative  by  an 
eye-witness  of  General  Buller's  attempts, 


and  of  his  final  success.  The  story  is  of 
absorbing  interest,  and  is  the  only  com- 
plete account  which  has  appeared. 

'  The  mantle  of  Archibald  Forbes  and  G. 
W.  Steevens  has  assuredly  fallen  upon 
Mr.  Atkins,  who  unites  a  singularly 
graphic  style  toan  equa  ly  rare  faculty 
of  vision.  In  his  pages. we  realise  the 
meaning  of  a  modern  campaign  with  the 
greatest  sense  of  actuality.  His  pages 
are  written  with  a  sustained  charm  of 
diction  and  ease  of  manner  that  are  no 
less  remarkable  than  the  sincerity  and 
vigour  of  the  matter  which  they  set 
before  us.' — World. 

'  Mr.  Atkins  has  a  genius  for  the  painting 
of  war  which  entitles  him  already  to  be 
ranked  with  Forbes  and  Steevens,  and 
encourages  us  to  hope  that  he  may  one 
day  rise  to  the  level  of  Napier  and 
Kinglake. '— Prt//  Mall  Gazette. 

'It  is  the  record  told  with  insight  and 
sympathy  of  a  great  conflict,  "it  is  as 
readable  as  a  novel,  and  it  bears  the 
imprint  of  truth.'— Morning  Leader. 

H.  W.  Nevinson.  LADYSMITH  :  The 
Diary  of  a  Siege.  By  H.  W.  Nevin- 
son. With  16  Illustrations  and  a 
Plan.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 

This  book  contains  a  complete  diary  of  the 
Siege  of  Ladysmith,  and  is  a  most  vivid 
and  picturesque  narrative. 

'  There  is  no  exaggeration  here,  no  strain- 
ing after  effect.  But  there  is  the  truest 
realism,  the  impression  of  things  as  they 
are  seen,  set  forth  in  well-chosen  words 
and  well-balanced  phrases,  with  a  mea- 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Catalogue 


21 


sured  self-restraint  that  marks  the  true 
artist.  Mr.  Nevinson  is  to  be  congratu- 
lated on  the  excellent  work  that  he  has 
done.' — Daily  Chronicle. 
'Of  the  many  able  and  fascinating  chroni- 
clers of  the  sad  and  splendid  story,  Mr. 
Nevinson  is  among  the  ablest  and  most 
fascinating.' — Fall  Mall  Gazette. 

E.  H.  Alderson.  WITH  THE 
MOUNTED  INFANTRY  AND 
THE  MASHON.A.L.-\ND  FIELD 
FORCE,  1896.  By  Lieut. -Colonel 
Alderson.  With  numerous  Illus- 
trations and  Plans.  Demy  ^vo. 
\os.  6d. 

Seymour  Vandeleur.  CAMPAIGN- 
ING ON  THE  UPPER  NILE 
AND  NIGER.  By  Lieut.  Seymour 
V.^NDELEUR.  With  an  Introduction 
by  Sir  G.  GoLDiE,  K.C.M.G.  Witli 
4  Maps,  Illustrations,  and  Plans. 
Large  Crown  8vo.     los.  6d. 

Lord  Fincastle.  A  FRONTIER 
CAMPAIGN.  By  Viscount  Fix- 
CASTLE,  V.C,  and  Lieut.  P.  C. 
Elliott-Lockh.^rt.  With  a  Map 
and  16  Illustrations.  Second  Edition. 
Crown  %vo.     6s. 

E.  N.  Bennett.  THE  DOWNFALL 
OF  THE  DERVISHES:  A  Sketch 
of  the  Sudan  Campaign  of  1898.  By 
E.  N.  Bennett,  Fellow  of  Hertford 
College.  With  a  Photogravure  Por- 
trait of  Lord  Kitchener.  Third 
Edition,    Crown  8vo.     35.  6d. 

W.  Kinnaird  Rose.  WITH  THE 
GREEKS  IN  THESSALY.  By 
W.  Kinnaird  Rose.  With  Illus- 
trations.    Crown  8vo.     6s. 

G.  W.  Steevens.     NAVAL  POLICY  : 

ByG.  W.  Steevens.    Demyivo.    6s. 

This  book  is  a  description  of  the  British  and 

other  more  important  navies  of  the  world, 

with  a  sketch  of  the  lines  on  which  our 

naval  policy  might  possibly  be  developed. 

D.  Hannay.  A  SHORT  HISTORY 
OF   THE    ROYAL   NAVY,   From 


Early  Times  to  the  Present  Day. 

By  David  Hannay.      Illustrated. 

2    Vols.      Demy   8vo.     js.    6d.    each. 

Vol.  I.,  1200-1688. 
'  We  read  it  from  cover  to  cover  at  a  sitting, 
and  those  who  go  to  it  for  a  lively  and 
brisk  picture  of  the  past,  with  all  its  faults 
and  its  grandeur,  will  not  be  disappointed. 
The  historian  is  endowed  with  literary 
skill  and  style.' — Standard. 

C.   Cooper  King.    THE  STORY  OF 

THE  BRITISH  ARMY.   By  Colonel 

Cooper  King.     Illustrated.     Demy 

8vo.     js.  6d. 

'  An   authoritative   and    accurate  story   of 

England's     military     progress.'— i?a//)' 

Mail. 

R.  Southey.  ENGLISH  SEAMEN 
(Howard,  Clifford,  Hawkins,  Drake, 
Cavendish).  By  Robert  Southey. 
Edited,  with  an  Introduction,  by 
David  Hannay.  Second  Edition. 
Crown  8vo.  6s. 
'A  brave,  inspiriting  book.' — Black  and 
ir/iite. 

W.   Clark  RusseU.     THE  LIFE  OF 

ADMIRAL      LORD      COLLING- 

WOOD.    By  W.  Clark  Russell. 

With  Illustrations  by  F.  Brangwyn. 

Third  Edition.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 

'  A  book  which  we  should  like  to  see  in  the 

hands  of  every  boy  in  the  country.' — 

.S";".  James's  Gazette. 

E.  L.  S.  Horsburgh.    WATERLOO :  A 

Narrative  and  Criticism.    By  E.  L.  S. 

Horsburgh,     B.  A.     With    Plans. 

Secotid  Edition.     Crown  8vo.     ^s. 

'A    brilliant    essay — simple,     sound,     and 

thorough.' — Daily  Chronicle. 

H.     B.     George.        BATTLES     OF 

ENGLISH    HISTORY.     By  H.   B. 

George,    M.A.,     Fellow    of    New 

College,    Oxford,      With    numerous 

Plans.     Third  Edition.    Cr.  8vo.    6s. 

'  Mr.  George  has  undertaken  a  very  useful 

task — that  of  making  military  affairs  in- 

tcliifjible  and  instructive  to  non-military 

reailers — and    has   executed   it   with   a 

large  measure  of  success.' — Times. 


22 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Catalogue 


General   Literature 


S.  Baring  Gould.     THE  BOOK  OF 
THE     WEST.       By    S.     Baring 
Gould.      With   numerous   Illustra- 
tions.    T'vo  volumes.    Vol.  i.  Devon. 
Vol.     II.     Cornwall.       Crown     8w. 
65.  each. 
'  They  are  very  attractive  little   volumes, 
they   have   numerous   very   pretty   and 
interesting  pictures,^  the  story  is  fresh 
and  bracing  as  the  air  of  Dartmoor,  and 
the  legend  weird  as  twilight  over  Doz- 
mare  Pool,  and  they  give  us  a  verj-  good 
idea  of  this  enchanting   and   beautiful 
district.' — Guardian. 
'  A  narrative  full  of  picturesque  incident, 
personal  interest,  and  literary  charm.' — 
Leeds  Mercury. 
S.  Baring  Gould.    OLD  COUNTRY 
LIFE.   RyS.  Baking  Gould.   With 
Si.xty-seven  Illustrations.     Large  Cr.  \ 
S'M.     Fifth  Edition,     bs. 
' '  Old  Country  Life,"  as  healthy  wholesome 
reading,   full  of  breezy  life  and   move- 
ment, full  of  quaint  stories  vigorously 
told,  will  not  be  excelled  by  any  book  to 
be     published     throughout     the     year. 
Sound  hearty,  and  English  to  the  core.' 
—  IVcr/d. 

S.  Baring  Gould.  AX  OLD  ENGLISH 
HOME.       By    S.    Baring  Gould. 
With   numerous   Plans  and  Illustra- 
tions.    Crotvn  8vo.     6s. 
'The  chapters  are  delightfully  fresh,  very 
informing,  and  lightened  by  many  a  good 
story.    A  delightful  fireside  companion.' 
— St.  James  s  Gazette. 
S.    Baring    Gould.       HISTORIC 
ODDITIES       AND       STRANGE 
EVENTS.     By  S.  Baking  Gould. 
Fourth  Edition.     Crowti  8vo.     6j. 
S.     Baring    Gould.      FREAKS    OF 
FANATICISM.       By     S.     Baring 
Gould,   Third  Edition.  Cr.Svo.  6s. 
S.  Baring  Gould.    A  GARLAND  OF 
COUNTRY   SONG:   English  Folk 
Songswith  their  Traditional  Melodies. 
Collected  and  arranged  by  S.  Baring 
Gould    and     H.     F.     Sheppard. 
Dtnty  ifto,    6s, 


S.  Baring  Gould.  SONGS  OF  THE 
\\'EST :  Traditional  Ballads  and 
Songs  of  the  West  of  England,  with 
their  Melodies.  Collected  by  S. 
Baring  Gould,  M.A.,  and  H.  F. 
Sheppard,  M.A.  In  4  Parts.  Parts 
/.,  //.,  ///.,  3 J.  each.  Part  IV.,  ^s. 
Ill  one  Vol.,  French  morocco,  15J. 
'  A  rich  collection  of  humour,  pathos,  grace, 
and  poetic  fa.ncy. 'Saturday  Rcviezu. 

S.  Baring  Gould.  YORKSHIRE 
ODDITIES  AND  STRANGE 
EVENTS.  By  S.  Baring  Gould. 
Fourth  Edition.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 

S.  Baring  Gould.  STRANGE  SUR- 
VIV.\LS  AND  SUPERSTITIONS. 
By  S.  Baring  Gould.  Cr.  8fo. 
Second  Edition.     6s. 

S.  Baring  Gould.  THE  DESERTS 
OF  SOUTHERN  FRANCE.  By 
S.  Baking  Gould.  2  vols.  Demy 
8z'0.     32s. 

Cotton  Minchin.  OLD  HARROW 
DAYS.  By  J.  G.  Cotton  Minchin. 
Cr.  8-1.0.     Second  Edition,     ^s. 

W.  E.  Gladstone.  THE  SPEECHES 
OF  THE  RT.  HON.  W.  E.  GLAD- 
STONE, M.P.  Edited  by  A.  W. 
i  HUTTON,  M.A.,  and  H.J.Cohen, 
M.A.  With  Portraits.  Demy  8vo, 
Vols.  IX.  and  X.,  12s.  6d,  each. 

J.    E.    Mart.       THE    SCIENTIFIC 

STUDY  OF  SCENERY.    By  J.  E. 

Mark,  F.  R.S.,  Fellow  of  St.  John's 

College,    Cambridge.        Illustrated. 

Crown  8vo.     6s. 

An  elementary  treatise  on  geomorphology 

— the  study  of  the  earth's  outward  forms. 

It  is  for  the  use  of  students  of  physical 

geography  and  geology,  and  will  also  be 

highly  interesting  to  the  general  reader. 

'A  fascinating  book,  a  real  fairy  tale.'— 

Pall  Mall  Gazette. 
•  Mr.  Marr  is  distinctly  to  be  congratulated 
on  the  general  result  of  his  work.     He 
has  produced  a  volume,  moderate  in  size 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Catalogue 


23 


and  readable  in  style,  which  will  be 
acceptable  alike  to  the  student  of  geo- 
logy and  geography,  and  to  the  tourist.' 
— A  thc7itru>n. 
'Can  be  read  with  pleasure  alike  by  the 
expert  and  the  general  reader.' 

—Manchester  Guardian. 

M.  N.  Oxford.  A  HANDBOOK  OF 
NURSING.  By  M.  N.  Oxford,  of 
Guy's  Hospital.    Crmvn  8vo.    35.  6d. 

This  is  a  complete  guide  to  the  science  and 
art  of  nursing,  containing  copious  in- 
struction both  general  and  particular. 

'  The  most  useful  work  of  the  kind  that  we 
have  seen.  A  most  valuable  and  prac- 
tical manual.' — Manchester  Guardian. 

E.  V.  Zenker.     ANARCHISM.     By 

E.  V.  Zenker.     Demy  Zvo.    7s.  6d. 

'  Herr  Zenker  has  succeeded  in  producing  a 

careful  and  critical  history  of  the  growth 

of  Anarchist  theory. 

A.  Silva  White.     THE  EXPANSION 
OF  EGYPT:  A  Political  and  His- 
torical Survey.    By  A.  SiLVA  White. 
With  four  Special  Maps.    Demy  Svo. 
15T.  net. 
'This  is  emphatically  the  best  account  of 
Egj-pt  as  it  is  under  English  control  that 
has  been  published  for  many  years.'  — 
Spectator. 

Peter  Beckford.    THOUGHTS  ON 

HUNTING.   By  Peter  Beckford. 

Edited  by    J.    Otho    Paget,    and 

Illustrated    by    G.     H.     Jalland. 

Demy  8vo.     los.  6d. 

'  Beckford's  "Thoughts  on  Hunting"  has 

long  been  a  classic  with  sportsmen,  and 

the  present  edition  will  go  far  to  make  it 

a  favourite  with  lovers  of  literature.' — 

Speaker. 

E.  B.  Michell.  THE  ART  AND 
PRACTICE  OF  HAWKING.  By 
E.  B.  Michell.  With  3  Photo- 
gravures by  G.  E.  Lodge,  and  other 
Illustrations.     Demy  8vo.      10s.  6d. 

A  complete  description  of  the  Hawks, 
Falcons,  and  Eagles  used  in  ancient  and 
modern  times,  with  directions  for  their 
training  and  treatment.  It  is  not  only 
a  historical  account,  but  a  complete 
practical  guide. 

'A  book  that  will  help  and  delight  the 
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this  handsome  treatise.' 

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H.  G.  HutcMnson.  THE  GOLFING 
PILGRIM.  By  Horace  G. 
Hutchinson.     Croiun  8vo.    6s. 

'  Without  this  book  the  golfer's  library  will 
be  incomplete.' — Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

J.  WeUs.     OXFORD  AND  OXFORD 
LIFE.      By   Members   of  the   Uni- 
versity.    Edited  by  J.  Wells,  M.A., 
Fellow  and  Tutor  of  Wadham  College. 
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C.  G.  Robertson.    VOCES  ACADE- 

MIC2E.     By  C.  Grant  Robertson, 

M.A.,   Fellow  of  All  Souls',  Oxford. 

With  a  Frontispiece.  Pott  8vo.  y.  6d. 

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Rosemary  Cotes.      DANTE'S  GAR- 
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8vo.     zs.  6d.     Leather,  35.  6d.  net, 
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son.    Fcp.  8vo.     zs.  6d. 
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L.  Whibley.  GREEK  OLIGARCH- 
IES :  THEIR  ORGANISATION 
AND  CHARACTER.  By  L. 
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broke College,  Cambridge.  Crown 
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ford.    Crown  8vo.     6s, 


24 


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ORUM  ;  OR,  A  GUIDE  TO 
BRIDGE.  By  A.  Hulme  Bea- 
man.    Fcap  Sz'f.     2.S. 

A  practical  guide,  with  many  specimen 
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E.  M.  Bowden.  THE  EXAMPLE  OF 
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F.  ■W.  Bussell.  THE  SCHOOL  OF 
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Fellow  of  Brasenose  College,  Oxford. 
Demy  8vo.     10s.  6d. 

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W.  R.  Inge.     CHRISTIAN  MYSTI- 
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and    Tutor    of    Hertford     College, 
Oxford.     Demy  8vo.     12s.  6d.  net. 
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S.  R.  Driver.  SERMONS  ON  SUB- 
JECTS CONNECTED  WITH 
THE  OLD  TESTAMENT.  By  S. 
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Church,  Regius  Professor  of  Hebrew 


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js.  6d. 

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Messrs.  Methuen's  Catalogue 


25 


is  overlooked.  We  gladly  recommend 
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understanding.' — Guardian. 

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of  New  College,  Oxford.    Cr.^vo.    6s. 
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H.  H.  Henson.  APOSTOLIC  CHRIS- 
TIANITY: As  Illustrated  by  the 
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By  H.  H.  Henson,  M.A.,  Fellow  of 
All  Souls',  Oxford.     Cr.  8vo.     6s. 

H.  H.  Henson.  DISCIPLINE  AND 
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Fcap.  %vo.     2S.  6d. 

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LEAVEN  :  Historical  and 
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son, M.A.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 

Bennett  and  Adeney.  A  BIBLICAL 
INTRODUCTION.  By  W.  H. 
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M.A.     Crown  8vo.     7s.  6d. 

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W.   H.   Bennett.      A    PRIMER   OF 

THE  BIBLE.     By  ^.  H.  Bennett. 

Second  Edition.     Cr.  8vo.     2S.  6d. 

'  The  work  of  an  honest,  fearless,  and  sound 

critic,  and  an  excellent  guide  in  a  small 

compass  to  the  books  of  the   Bible.' — 

Mancliesler  Guardian. 

C.   F.  G.  Masterman.     TENNYSON 

AS    A    RICLIGIOUS    TEACIUiR. 

By  C.  F.  G.  Masterman.     Crown 

8vo.     6  J. 

'  A  thoughtful  and  penetrating  appreciation, 

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SERMONS.     By  William  Harri- 


son,  M.A.,  late  Rector  of  Clovelly. 
With  a  Preface  by  '  LuCAS  Malet.' 
Cr.  8vo.     y.  6d. 
Cecilia  Robinson.    THE  MINISTRY 
OF  DEACONESSES.     By  Deacon- 
ness  Cecilia  Robinson.     With  an 
Introduction  by  the  Lord  Bishop  of 
Winchester.     Cr.  8vo.     y.  6d. 
'A  le.irned  and   interesting  book.' — Scois- 
man. 

E.  B.  Layard.  RELIGION  IN  BOY- 
HOOD. Notes  on  the  Religious 
Training  of  Boys.  By  E.  B. 
L.\yard,  M.A.     \8mo.  \s. 

T.  Herbert  Bindley.  THE  OECU- 
MENICAL DOCUMENTS  OF 
THE  FAITH.  Edited  with  Intro- 
ductions and  Notes  by  T.  Herbert 
Bindley,  B.D.,  Merton  College, 
Oxford.     Croii'n  8vo.     6s. 

A  historical  account  of  the  Creeds. 
'  Mr.  Bindley  has  done  his  work  in  a  fashion 
which  calls  for  our  warmest  gratitude. 
The  introductions,  though  Ijrief,  are 
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are  learned  and  full,  and  serve  admirably 
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te.xt.' — Guardian. 

H.  M.  Barron.  TEXTS  FOR  SER- 
MONS ON  VARIOUS  OCCA- 
SIONS AND  SUBJECTS.  Com- 
piled and  Arranged  by  H.  M.  Bar- 
ron, B.A.  ,  of  Wadham  College, 
Oxford,  with  a  Preface  by  Canon 
Scott  Holland.  Crown  8vo.  y. 
6d. 

W.  Yorke  Fausset.  THE  DE 
CATECHIZANDIS  RUDIBUS 
OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE.  Edited, 
with  Introduction,  Notes,  etc.,  by 
W.  Yorke  Fausset,  M.A.  Cr.  8vo. 
y.  6d. 

F.  Weston.  THE  HOLY  SACRI- 
FICE. By  F.  Weston,  M.A., 
Curate  of  St.  Matthew's,  Westmin- 
ster.    PoU  8vo.     6d.  net. 

A  Kempis.  THE  IMITATION  OF 
CHRLST.  By  Thomas  A  Kempis. 
With  an  Introduction  by  Dean 
Farrar.  Illustrated  by  C.  M. 
Gere.  Second  Edition.  Fcap.  8vo, 
35.  6d.  Padded  morocco,  55. 
'Amongst    all    the    innumerable    English 


26 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Catalogue 


editions  of  the  "Imitation,"  there  can 
have  been  few  which  were  prettier  than 
this  one,  printed  in  strong  and  handsome 
type,  with  all  the  glory  of  red  initials.' — 
Giasgtnu  Herald. 

J.  Keble.    THE  CHRISTIAN  YEAR. 
By  John   Keble.     With  an  Intro- 


duction and  Notes  by  W.  Lock, 
D.D.,  Warden  of  Keble  College. 
Illustrated  by  R.  Anning  Bell. 
Second  Edition.  Fcap.  8vo.  35.  6d. 
Padded  viorocco.  5s. 
'  The  present  edition  is  annotated  with  all 

the  care  and  insight  to  be  expected  from 

Mr.  Lock.' — Guardian. 


©i'toi'D  Contmentaries 

General  Editor,  Walter  Lock,  D.D.,  Warden  of  Keble  College,  Dean 
Ireland's  Professor  of  Exegesis  in  the  University  of  Oxford. 


THE  BOOK  OF  JOB.  Edited,  with 
Introduction  and  Notes,  by  E.  C.  S. 
Gibson,  D.D.,  Vicar  of  Leeds.  Demy 
8vo.     6s. 

'  The  publishers  are  to  be  congratulated  on 
the  start  the  series  has  made.' — Times. 

'  It  is  in  his  patient,  lucid,  interest-sus- 
taining explanations  that  Dr.  Gibson  is 
at  his  best.' — Literature. 

'  We  can  hardly  imagine  a  more  useful  book 
to  place  in  the  hands  of  an  intelligent 
layman,  or  cleric,  who  desires  to  eluci- 


date some  of  the  difficulties  presented  in 
the  Book  of  Job.' — Church  Times. 
'  The  work  is  marked  by  clearness,  light- 
ness of  touch,  strong  common  sense,  and 
thorough  critical  fairness. 
'  Dr.  Gibson's  work  is  worthy  of  a  high 
degree  of  appreciation.  To  the  busy 
worker  and  the  intelligent  student  the 
commentary  will  be  a  rtal  boon  ;  and  it 
will,  if  we  are  not  mistaken,  be  much  in 
demand.  The  Introduction  is  almost  a 
model  of  concise,  straightforward,  pre- 
fatory remarks  on  the  subject  treated.' — 
A  thefiiTum. 


IbaiiDbooj^s  of  Zbcoloc^^ 

General  Editor,  A.  Robertson,  D.D.,  Principal  of  King's  College,  London. 


THE  XXXIX.  ARTICLES  OF  THE 
CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND.  Edited 
with  an  Introduction  by  E.  C.  S. 
Gibson,  D.D.,  Vicar  of  Leeds,  late 
Principal  of  Wells  Theological  Col- 
lege, Second  and  Cheaper  Edition 
in  One  Volume,     Demy  8vo.     12s.  6d. 

'  We  welcome  with  the  utmost  satisfaction 
a  new,  cheaper,  and  more  convenient 
edition  of  Dr.  Gibson's  book.  It  was 
greatly  wanted.  Dr.  Gibson  has  given 
theological  students  just  what  they  want, 
and  we  should  like  to  think  that  it  was 
in  the  hands  of  every  candidate  for 
orders.' — Guardian. 

AN  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE 
HISTORY  OF  RELIGION.  By 
F.  B.  Jevons,  M.A.,  Litt.D.,  Prin- 
cipal of  Bishop  Hatfield's  Hall. 
Demy  8vo.     los,  6d. 

'  The  merit  of  this  book  lies  in  the  penetra- 
tion, the  singular  acuteness  and  force  of 
the  author's  judgment.     He  is  at  once 


critical  and  luminous,  at  once  just  and 
suggestive.  A  comprehensive  and 
thorough  book.' — Birmingha»t  Post. 

THE  DOCTRINE  OF  THE  INCAR- 
NATION. By  R.  L.  Ottley,  M.  A. , 
late  fellow  of  Magdalen  College, 
Oxon. ,  and  Principal  of  Pusey  House. 
In  Two  Volumes.     Dnny  8vo.     15^. 

'  A  clear  and  remarkably  full  account  of  the 
main  currents  of  speculation.  Scholarly 
precision  .  .  .  genuine  tolerance  .  .  . 
intense  interest  in  his  subject — are  Mr. 
Ottley 's  merits.' — Guardian. 

AN  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE 
HISTORYOF  THE  CREEDS.  By 
A.  E.  Burn,  B.D.,  Examining  Chap- 
lain to  the  Bishop  of  Lichfield.  Demy 
8vo.     \os,  6d. 

'  This  book  may  be  expected  to  hold  its 
place  as  an  authority  on  its  subject.  — 
Spectator. 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Catalogue 


27 


XLbc  Cburcbman's  Xlbrarg 

General  Editor,  J.  H.  BURN,  B.D.,  Examining  Chaplain  to  the 
Bishop  of  Aberdeen. 

THE   WORKMANSHIP    OF 


THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  ENGLISH 
CHRISTIANITY.  By  W.  E.  Col- 
lins, M.A.  With  Map.  Cr.  8vo. 
3s.  6d. 

'  An  excellent  example  of  thorough  and  fresh 
historical  work.' — Guardian. 

SOME  NEW  TESTAMENT  PRO- 
BLEMS. By  Arthur  Wright, 
M.A. ,  Fellow  of  Queen's  College, 
Cambridge.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 


THE 

PRAYER  BOOK :  Its  Literary  and 
Liturgical  Aspects.  ByJ.  Dowden, 
D.D. ,  Lord  Bishop  of  Edinburgh. 
Crozvn  Zvo.  35.  6d. 
'Scholarly  and  interesting.' — Manchester 
Guardian, 

EVOLUTION.  By  F.  B.  Jevons, 
Litt.D.,  Principal  of  Hatfield  Hall, 
Durham.     Crown  ivo.     y.  6d. 

'  A  well-written  book,  full  of  sound  thinking 
happily  expressed.' — Manchester  Guar- 
dian. 

'A  singularly  fresh  and  stimulating  book.' 
^S/'iaker. 

'  We  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  this 
is  much  the  best  general  account  of  the 
philosophical  consequences  of  the  theory 
of  Evolution  that  has  yet  appeared .' 

— Guardian. 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  HEAVEN 
HERE  AND  HEREAFTER.  By 
Canon  Wintekbotham,  M.A., 
B.Sc,  LL.B.     Cr.  2,vo.     35.  6d. 

'A  most  able  book,  at  once  exceedingly 
thoughtful  and  richly  suggestive.'— G/ai- 
g07u  Herald. 

^be  Cburcbniati'6  JSible 

General  Editor,  J.  H.  BURN,  B.D. 
Messrs.  Methuen  are  issuing  a  series  of  expositions  upon  most  of  the  books  of 
the  Bible.     The  volumes  will  be  practical  and  devotional,  and  the  text  of  the 
authorised  version  is  explained   in   sections,   which  will   correspond   as   far   as 
possible  with  the  Church  Lectionary. 


THE  EPISTLE  OF  ST.  PAUL  TO 
THE  GALATIANS.     Explained  by 
A.    W.    Robinson,    Vicar    of    All 
Hallows,  Barking.    Fcap.  8vo.    is.  6d. 
net. 
'  The  most  attractive,  sensible,  and  instruc- 
tive manual  for  people  at  large,  which 
we  have  ever  seen.' — Church  Gazette, 

ECCLESIASTES.  Explained  by  A. 
W.  StreANE,  D.D.  Fcap,  8vo. 
js.  6d.  net. 


'  Scholarly,  suggestive,  and  particularly 
interesting. ' — Bookjiian. 

THE  EPISTLE  OF  PAUL  THE 
APOSTLE  TO  THE  PHILIP- 
PIANS.  Explained  by  C.  R.  D. 
BiGGS,  B.D.  Fcap.  Zvo.  is.  6d. 
net, 

'  Mr.  Biggs'  work  is  very  thorough,  and  he 
has  managed  to  compress  a  good  deal  of 
information  into  a  limited  space.' 

— Guardian. 


Zhc  Xibrarg  of  Devotion 

Fott  2>vo,  cloth,  2s.;  leather,  2s,  6d,  net. 
'This  series  is  excellent.' — The  Bishop  of  London. 
'  Very  delightful.' — The  Bishop  of  Bath  and  Wells. 
'  Well  worth  the  attention  of  the  Clergy.' — The  Bishop  of  Lichfield. 
'  The  new  "  Library  of  Devotion  "  is  cxrellent.' — The  Bishop  of  Peterborough. 
'  Charming.' — Record.  '  Delightful.' — Church  Bells. 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  ST.  AU- 
GUSTINE. Newly  Translanted, 
with  an  Introduction  and  Notes,  by 
C.  Bigg,  D.D.,  late  Student  of  Christ 
Church.     Second  Edition, 


'  The  translation  is  an  excellent  piece  of 
English,  and  the  introduction  is  a  mas- 
terly exposition.  _  We  augur  well  of  a 
series  which  begins  so  satisfactorily.' — 
Times. 


28 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Catalogue 


THE  CHRISTIAN  YEAR.    By  John 

Keble.       With     Introduction    and 

Notes    by   Walter    Lock,    D.D., 

Warden  of  Keble   College,    Ireland 

Professor  at  Oxford. 

'The_  volume   is   very   prettily  bound   and 

printed,  and  may  fairly  claim  to  be  an 

advance    on    any  previous  editions.' — 

Guardian. 

TPIE  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST.    A 
Revised  Translation,  with  an  Introduc- 
tion, by  C.  Bigg,  D.D.,  late  Student 
of  Christ  Church.     Second  Edition. 
A  practically  new  translation  of  this  book, 
vvhich  the  reader  has,  almost  for  the  first 
time,    exactly  in  the  shape  in  which  it 
left  the  hands  of  the  author. 
'  A  nearer  approach  to  the  original  than 
has  yet  existed  in  English.' — Academy. 

A  BOOK  OF  DEVOTIONS.  By  J. 
W.  Stanbridge,  B.D.  ,  Rector  of 
Bainton,  Canon  of  York,  and  some- 
time Fellow  of  St.  John's  Collesre, 
Oxford. 

'  It  is  probably  the  best  book  of  its  kind.  It 
deserves  high  commendation.' — Church 
Gazette. 


LYRA  INNOCENTIUM.  By  John 
Keble.  Edited,  with  Introduction 
and  Notes,  by  Walter  Lock,  D.D., 
Warden  of  Keble  College,  Oxford. 
Pott  Bvo.  2S.  ;  leather,  zs.  6d.  net. 

'  This  sweet  and  fragrant  book  has  never 
been     published     more    attractively.' — 
A  cade»ty. 
'  The  work  is  gi\en  in  as  dainty  a  form  as 

any  it  has  yet  lak^n.'— Scotsman. 
'The  analysis  and  notes  are  discriminating, 
scholarly,  and  helpful.  '—ChurchRevicw. 
A  SERIOUS  CALL  TO  A  DEVOUT 
AND  HOLY  LIFE.     By  William 
Law.    Edited,  with  an  Introduction, 
by  C.  Bigg,  D.D.,  late  Student  of 
Christ  Church. 
This  is  a  reprint,  word  for  word  and  line  for 
line,  of  the  Edit  to  Princeps. 

THE  TEMPLE.     By  George  Her- 
bert.    Edited,  with  an  Introduction 
and   Notes,   by   E.    C.   S.   Gibson, 
D.D. ,  Vicar  of  Leeds. 
This    edition    contains    Walton's    Life    of 
Herbert,  and  the  text  is  that  of  the  first 
edition. 
'  As  neat  and  desirable  an  edition  of  the 
work  as  can  be  found.' — Scotsman. 


XcaDcrs  of  IReligion 

Editedby  IL  C.  BEECHING,  M.A.     With  Portraits,  Crown  %vo.    y.^d. 
A  series  of  short  biographies  of  the  most  prominent  leaders  of  religious 
life  and  thought  of  all  ages  and  countries. 
The  following  are  ready — 


CARDINAL  NEWMAN.     By  R.   H. 

HUTTON. 

JOHN  WESLEY.  By  J.  H.  Over- 
ton, M.A. 

BISHOP  WILBERFORCE.  By  G. 
W.  Daniell,  M.A. 

CARDINAL  MANNING.  By  A.  W. 
HUTTON,  M.A. 

CHARLES  SIMEON.  By  H.  C.  G. 
MouLE,  D.D. 

JOHN  KEBLE.  By  Walter  Lock, 
D.D. 

THOMAS    CHALMERS.      By    Mrs. 

Oliphant. 
LANCELOT  ANDREWES.     By  R. 

L.  Ottley,  M.A. 


AUGUSTINE  OF  CANTERBURY. 

By  E.  L.  CuTTS,  D.D. 
WILLIAM      LAUD.       By    W.     H. 

HUTTON,  B.D. 
JOHN  KNOX.     By  F.  MacCunn. 
JOHN  HOWE.     By  R.  F.  Horton, 

D.D. 
BISHOP  KEN.     By  F.  A.  Clarke, 

M.A. 
GEORGE    FOX,    THE    QUAKER. 

ByT.  Hodgkin,  D.C.L. 
JOHN      DONNE.       By    Augustus 

Jessopp,  D.D. 
THOMAS    CRANMER.      By.  A.   J. 

Mason. 
BISHOP  LATIMER.    By  R.  M.  CAR. 

lyle  and  A.  J.  Carlyle,  M.A. 


Other  volumes  will  be  announced  in  due  course. 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Catalogue 


29 


Fiction 


8IX     SHILLING     NOVELS 

Marie  Corelli's  Novels 

Crown  Svo.     6s.  each. 


A  ROMANCE  OF  TWO  WORLDS. 
Twentieth  Edition. 

VENDETTA.      Fifteerith  Edition. 

THELMA.     Twenly-seco?id  Edition. 

ARDATH:  THE  STORY  OF  A 
DEAD  SELF.     Twelfth  Edition. 

THE  SOUL  OF  LILITH.  Ninth 
Editio7i, 

WORMWOOD.     Tenth  Edition. 

BARABBAS  :  A  DREAM  OF  THE 
WORLD'S  TRAGEDY.  Thirty- 
fifth  Edition. 

'  The  tender  reverence  of  the  treatment 
and  the  imaginative  beauty  of  the  writ- 
ing have  reconciled  us  to  the  daring  of 
the  conception,  and  the  conviction  is 
forced  on  us  that  even  so  exalted  a  sub- 
ject cannot  be  made  too  familiar  to  us, 


provided  it  be  presented  in  the  true  spirit 
of  Christian  faith.  The  amplifications 
of  the  Scripture  narrative  are  often  con- 
ceived with  high  poetic  insight,  and  this 
"Dream  of  the  World's  Tragedy"  is 
a  lofty  and  not  inadequate  paraphrase 
of  the  supreme  climax  of  the  inspired 
narrative.' — Dublin  Review. 

THE  SORROWS  OF  SATAN. 
Forty-second  Edition. 
'  A  very  powerful  piece  of  work.  .  .  .  The 
conception  is  magnificent,  and  is  likely 
to  win  an  abiding  place  within  the 
memory  of  man.  .  .  .  The  author  has 
immeusc  comnuuid  of  language,  and  a 
limitless  audacity.  .  .  .  This  interesting 
and  remarkable  romance  will  live  long 
after  much  of  the  ephemeral  literature 
of  the  day  is  forgotten.  ...  A  literary 
phenomenon  .  .  .  novel,  and  e\cn  •sub- 
lime.'— W.  T.  Stead  in  the  Keview 
of  Reviews. 


Anthony  Hope's  Novels 

Croivn  Svo.     6s.  each. 


THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR.  Eighth 
Edition. 
'  A  very  remarkable  book,  deserving  of 
critical  analysis  impossible  within  our 
limit ;  brilliant,  but  not  superficial  ; 
well  considered,  but  not  elaborated  ; 
constructed  with  the  proverbial  art  that 
conceals,  but  yet  allows  itselfto  be 
enjoyed  by  readers  to  whom  fine  literary 
method  is  a  keen  pleasure.'—  The  World. 

A  CHANGE  OF  AIR.    Fifth  Edition. 

'A    graceful,    vivacious    comedy,    true    to 

human     nature.      The    characters     are 

traced  with  a  masterly  hand.' — Times. 

A   MAN   OF  MARK.    Fifth  Edition. 

'Of  all   Mr.    Hope's   books,   "A    Man   of 

Mark"  is  the  one  which  best  compares 

with     "The     Prisoner    of    Zenda." ' — 

National  Observer. 


THE   CHRONICLES   OF    COUNT 
ANTONIO.     Fourth  Edition. 

'It  is  a  perfectly  enchanting  story  of  love 
and  chivalry,  and  pure  romance.  'J'he 
Count  is  the  most  constant,  desperate, 
and  modest  and  tender  of  lovers,  a  peer- 
less gentleman,  an  intrepid  fighter,  a 
faithful  friend,  and  a  magnanimous  foe.' 
— Guardian. 

PHROSO.      Illustrated     by     II.     R. 
Millar.     Fourth  Edition. 
'  The  tale  is  thoroughly  fresh,  quick  with 
vitality,  stirring  the  blood. '— 6"/. /aww'i 
Gazette. 
'From  cover  to  cover  "Phroso"  not  only 
engages  the  attention,  but  carries  the 
reader   in   little   whirls  of  delight   from 
adventure  to  adventure.' — Academy. 


30 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Catalogue 


SIMON  DALE.     Illustrated.     Third 
Edition, 

'  There  is  searching  analysis  of  human 
nature,  with  a  most  ingeniously  con- 
structed plot.  Mr.  Hope  has  drawn  the 
contrasts  of  his  women  with  marvellous 
subtlety  and  delicacy.' — Times. 


THE    KING'S 
Edition. 


MIRROR. 


Third 


'  In  elegance,  delicacy,  and  tact  It  ranks 
with  the  best  of  his  novels,  while  in  the 
wide  range  of  its  portraiture  and  the 
subtilty  of  its  analysis  it  surpasses  all  his 
earlier  ventures. ' — Spectator. 

"'The  King's  Mirror"  is  a  strong  book, 
charged  with  close  analysis  and  exquisite 
irony  ;  a  book  full  of  pathos  and  moral 
fibre — in  short,  a  book  to  be  read.' — 
Daily  Chronicle. 


Gilbert  Parker's  Novels 


Crown  %vo.     6j.  each. 


PIERRE  AND  HIS  PEOPLE. 
Fifth  Edition. 

'  Stories  happily  conceived  and  finely  ex- 
ecuted. There  is  strength  and  genius  in 
Mr.  Parker's  style.' — Daily  Telegraph. 

MRS.  FALCHION.     Fourth  Edition. 

'  A  splendid  study  of  character.' — 

Athenxum. 

THE       TRANSLATION       OF       A 
SAVAGE. 
'The  plot  is  original  and  one  difficult  to 
work  out ;  but  Mr.  Parker  has  done  it 
with    great    skill    and   delicacy.' 

— Daily  Chronicle. 

THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  SWORD. 
Illustrated.  Sixth  Edition. 
'  A  rousing  and  dramatic  tale.  A  book  like 
this,  in  wliich  swords  flash,  great  sur- 
prises are  undertaken,  and  daring  deeds 
done,  in  which  men  and  women  live  and 
love  in  the  old  passionate  way,  is  a  joy 
inexpressible. ' — Daily  Chronicle. 

WHEN    VALMOND     CAME     TO 

PONTIAC:    The   Story   of  a   Lost 

Napoleon.     Fourth  Edition. 

'  Here   we   find  romance — real,  breathing, 

living  romance.     The  character  of  Val- 

mand  is  drawn  unerringly. ' — Pall  Mall 

Gazette. 


AN  ADVENTURER  OF  THE 
NORTH  :  The  Last  Adventures  of 
'  Pretty  Pierre."     Second  Edition. 

'  The  present  book  is  full  of  fine  and  mov- 
ing stories  of  the  great  North,  and  it 
will  add  to  Mr.  Parker's  already  high 
reputation." — Glasgow  Herald. 

THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY. 
Illustrated.      Tenth  Edition. 

'  Mr.    Parker   has   produced   a   really  fine 

historical  novel." — Athentrum. 
'  A  great  book." — Black  and  White. 

THE  POMP  OF  THE  LAVILET- 
TES.     Second  Edition.     3.?.  td, 

'  Living,  breathing  romance,  unforced 
pathos,  and  a  deeper  knowledge  of 
human  nature  than  Mr.  Parker  has  ever 
displayed  before.' Pall MallGazeite. 

THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG: 
a  Romance  of  Two  Kingdoms. 
Illustrated.     Fourth  Edition. 

'  Nothing  more  vigorous  or  more  human  has 
come  from  Mr.  Gilbert  Parker  than  this 
novel.  It  has  all  the  graphic  power  of 
his  last  book,  with  truer  feeling  for  the 
romance,  both  of  human  life  and  wild 
nature.' — Literature. 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Catalogue 


31 


S.  Baring  Gould's  Novels 

Crown  Svo.     6s.  each. 

'To  say  that  a  book  is  by  the  author  of  "Mehalah"  is  to  imply  that  it  contains  a 
story  cast  on  strong  lines,  containing  dramatic  possibilities,  vivid  and  sympathetic  descrip- 
tions of  Nature,  and  a  wealth  of  ingenious  imagery.' — Speaker. 

'That  whatever  Mr.  Baring  Gould  writes  is  well  worth  reading,  is  a  conclusion  that  may 
be  very  generally  accepted.  His  views  of  life  are  fresh  and  vigorous,  his  language 
pointed  and  characteristic,  the  incidents  of  which  he  makes  use  are  striking  and  original, 
his  characters  are  life-like,  and  though  somewhat  exceptional  people,  are  drawn  and 
coloured  with  artistic  force.  Add  to  this  that  his  descriptions  of  scenes  and  scenery  are 
painted  with  the  loving  eyes  and  skilled  hands  of  a  master  of  his  art,  that  he  is  always 
fresh  and  never  dull,  and  it  is  no  wonder  that  readers  have  gained  confidence  in  his 
power  of  amusing  and  satisfying  them,  and  that  year  by  year  his  popularity  widens.' — 
Court  Circular. 


ARM  I  NELL.     Fourth  Edition. 

U  R I T  H .     Fifth  Edition . 

IN    THE     ROAR    OF    THE    SEA. 

Seventh  Edition. 
MRS.  CURGENVEN  OF  CURGEN- 

VEN.     Fourth  Edition. 
CHEAP  JACK  ZITA.  Fourth  Edition. 
THE  QUEEN  OF   LOVE.        Fifth 

Edition. 
MARGERY  OF  QUETHER.     Third 

Edition. 
JACQUETTA.     Third  Edition. 
KITTY  ALONE.     Fifth  Edition. 


NOEMI.    Illustrated.    Fojirth  Edition. 

THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.    Illustrated. 
Fourth  Editio7i. 

THE  PENNYCOMEQUICKS. 
Third  Edition. 

DARTMOOR  IDYLLS. 

GUAVAS    THE    TINNER.       Illus- 
trated.    Second  Edition. 

BLADYS.  Illustrated.  Seco7id  Edition. 

DOMITIA.     Illustrated.     Second  Edi- 
tion. 
PABO  THE  PRIE.Sr. 


Conan  Doyle.     ROUND  THE  RED 

L.\MP.      By    A.    Conan    Doyle. 

Sixth  Edition.     Crown  Svo.     6s. 

'The  book  is  far  and  away  the  best  view 

that  has  been  vouchsafed  us  beliind  the 

scenes  of  the  consulting-room.' — /ttus- 

trated  London  News. 

Stanley   Weyman.      UNDER    THE 
RED  ROBE.      By  St.^nley  Wey- 
man, Author   of   '  A   Gentleman   of 
France.'    With  Illustrations  by  R.  C. 
WOODVILLE.         Fifteenth   Edition, 
down  Svo.     6s. 
'  Every  one  who  reads  books  at  all   must 
read   this   thrilling   romance,  from   the 
first  page  of  which  to  the  last  the  breath- 
less reader  is  haled  along.     An  inspira- 
tion of  manliness  and  courage.'— i'a//)' 
Chronicle. 
Lucas    Malet.      THE   WAGES    OF 
SIN.      By  Lucas  Malet.      Thir- 
teenth Edition.     Crown  Svo.     6s. 
Lucas   Malet.      THE    CARISSIMA. 
By  Lucas  Malet,  Author  of  '  The 


Third  Edition. 


Wages  of  Sin,'  etc. 
Crown  Svo.     6s. 

George  Gissing.     THE  TOWN  TRA- 
VELLER.    By    George   Gissing, 
Author  of  '  Demos,'  '  In  the  Year  of 
Jubilee,'  etc.    Second  Edition,      Cr. 
Svo.     6s. 
'It  is   a  bright  and  witty  book  above  all 
things.     Polly  Sparkes  is  a  splendid  bit 
of  work.'— Pall  Mall  Gazette. 
'  The  spirit  of  Dickens  is  in  it." — Bookman. 

George  Gissing.  THE  CROWN  OF 
LIFE.  By  George  Gissing,  Author 
of  '  Demos,'  '  The  Town  Traveller,' 
etc.     Crown  Svo.     6s. 

'  Mr.  Gissing  is  at  his  hs-^x.:— Academy. 

'  A  fine  \\Q>\^\.'—Outlooli. 

S.  R.  Crockett.     LOCHINVAR.     By 

.S.   R.  Crockett,  Author  of   'The 

Raiders,"   etc.      Illustrated.      Second 

Edition.     Crown  Svo.     6s. 

'Full  of  gallantry  and  pathos,  of  the  clash 


32 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Catalogue 


of  arms,  and  brightened  by  episodes  of 
humour  and  love.  .  .  .'—IVestminsier 
Gazette. 

S.  R.  Crockett.  THE  STANDARD 
BEARER.  By  S.  R.  CROCKETT. 
Crown  8vo.     6s. 

'A  delightful  ts.\e.'—S/eaier. 

'  Mr.  Crockett  at  his  best.' — Literature. 

Arthur     Morrison.       TALES      OF 
MEAN    STREETS.      By  Arthur 
Morrison.      Fifth   Edition.       Cr. 
Zvo.     6s. 
'  Told   with  consummate    art    and    extra- 
ordinary detail.     In  the  true  humanity 
of   the   book   lies   its  justification,    the 
permanence  of  its  interest,  and  its  in- 
dubitable triumph.' — Athemeum. 
'  A  great  book.     The  author's  method  is 
amazingly    effective,    and    produces    a 
thrilling  sense  of  reality.      The  writer 
lays  upon  us  a  master  hand.     The  book 
is  simply  appalling  and   irresistible  in 
its  interest.  _  It  is  humorous  also  ;  with- 
out humour  it  would  not  make  the  mark 
it  is  certain  to  make.'  —  VVcrtd. 

Arthur    Morrison.      A   CHILD    OF 
THE  JAGO.     By  Arthur  Morri- 
son.     Third  Edition.     Cr.  8vo.     6s. 
'  The  book  is  a  masterpiece.' — Patt  Mall 

Gazette. 
'  Told  with  great  vigour  and  powerful  sim- 
plicity.'— Athenaum. 

Arthur    Morrison.      TO    LONDON 

TOWN.      By  Arthur  Morrison, 

Author  of  'Tales  of  Mean  Streets," 

etc.    Second  Edition.   Crown  Svo.  6s. 

'  We  have  idyllic  pictures,  woodland  scenes 

full  of  tenderness  and  grace.  .  .  .  This 

is  the  new  Mr.  Arthur  Morrison  gracious 

and  tender,  sympathetic  and  human.' — 

Daily  Telegraph. 

'The  easy  swing  of  detail  proclaims  the 

master  of  his  subject  and  the  artist  in 

rendering.  '—Pall  Alall  Gazette. 

M.  Sutherland.  ONE  HOUR  AND 
THE  NEXT.  By  The  Duchess 
of  Sutherland.  Third  Edition. 
Crown  %vo.     6s, 

'Passionate,  vivid,  dramatic' — Literatuie. 
'  It  possesses  marked  qualities,  descriptive, 
and  imaginative.'— J/i;)-/;/;/!-  Post. 


Mrs.     Clifford.       A      FLASH      OF 
SUMMER.     By  Mrs.  W.  K.  Clif- 
ford, Author  of  'Aunt  Anne,'  etc. 
Second  Editiofi.     Crown  Svo.     6s. 
'  The  story  is  a  very  beautiful  one,  exquis- 
itely told.  'Speaker. 

Emily  Lawless.  HURRISH.  By  the 
Honble.  Emily  Lawless,  Author  of 
'Maelcho,' etc.  Fifth  Edition.  Cr. 
Svo.     6s. 

Emily  Lawless.     MAELCHO  :  a  Si.x- 
teenth   Century   Romance.      By  the 
Honble.   Emily  Lawless.     Second 
Edition.     Crown  Zvo.     6s. 
'  A  really  great  hooV.' —Spectator. 
'  One    of   the    most    remarkable    literary 
achievementsofthis  generation. '—j1/a«- 
chester  Guardian. 

Emily  Lawless.  TRAITS  AND 
CONFIDENCES.  By  the  Honble. 
EiMiLY  Lawless.     Crown  8vo.    6s. 

Eden    Phillpotts.       THE    HUMAN 
BOY.  By  Eden  Phillpotts,  Author 
of  'Children  of  the  Mist.'     With  a 
Frontispiece.  Fourth  Edition.  Crown 
Svo.     6s. 
'  Mr.  Phillpotts  knows  exactly  what  school- 
boys do,  and  can  lay  bare  their  inmost 
thoughts;  likewise  he  shows  an  all-per- 
vading sense  of  humour.'— Academy. 

E.  W.  Hornung.     THE  AMATEUR 
CRACKSMAN.      By  E.  W.  Hor- 
nung.    Croivti  Svo.     6s. 
'  An    audaciously   entertaining    volume.' — 
S/>ectator. 

Jane  Barlow.    A  CREEL  OF  IRISH 
STORIES.       By    Jane    Barlow, 
Author    of    'Irish    Idylls."      Second 
Edition.      Crow?i  Svo.     6s, 
'  Vivid  and  singularly  leaX.'— Scotsman. 

Jane  Barlow.  FROM  THE  EAST 
UNTO  THE  WEST.  By  Jane 
Barlow.     Crown  Svo.     6s. 

Mrs.Cafifyn.  ANNEMAULEVERER. 
By  Mrs.  Caffyn  (Iota),  Author  of 
'  The  Yellow  Aster."  Second  Edition. 
Crown  Svo.     6s. 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Catalogue 


33 


Benjamin  Swift.     SIREN  CITY.    By 

Ben'JAMIN  Swift,  Author  of  '  Nancy 

Noon.'     Crown  Zvo.     6s. 

'"Siren  City"  is  certainly  his  best  book, 

and  it  is  the  work  of  a  strong  man.     It 

has  sobriety,  not  only  of  manner,  but  of 

spirit. ' — A  cade  my. 

J.     H.    Findlater.      THE    GREEN 

GRAVES  OF  BALGOVVRIE.       By 

Jane     H.      Findlater.       Fourth 

Edition.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 

'A  powerful  and  vivid  story." — Standard. 

'  A  beautiful  story,  sad  and  strange  as  truth 

itself.' — Vanity  Fair. 
'A  very  charming  and  pathetic  tale.' — Pall 

Mall  Gazette. 
'  A  singularly  original,  clever,  and  beautiful 

story.' — Guardian. 
'  Reveals  to  us  a  new  writer  of  undoubted 

faculty  and  reserve  force.' — Spectator. 
'An  exquisite  idyll,  delicate,  affecting,  and 
heautilaV— Black  and  White. 

3.  H.  Findlater.  A  DAUGHTER 
OF  STRIFE.  By  Jane  Helen 
Findlater.     Crown  8vo.    6s. 

J.     H.    Findlater.      RACHEL.      By 
Jane      H.      Findlater.       Second 
Edition.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 
'  A  not  unworthy  successor  to  "  The  Green 
Graves  of  Balgowrie."  ' — Critic. 

Mary      Findlater.       OVER      THE 

HILLS.      By   Mary    Findlater. 

Second  Edition.     Cr.  Svo.     6s. 

'  A  strong  and  wise  book  of  deep  insight  and 

unflinching  truth." — Birmingham  Post. 

Mary     Findlater.      BETTY     M  US- 
GRAVE.      By  Mary   Findlater. 
Secojid  Edition.     Crow?i  Zvo.     6s. 
'  Handled  with  dignity  and  delicacy.  .  .  . 
A  most  touching  story.'  —.^/lec tator. 

Alfred  Ollivant.     OWD  BOB,  THE 

GREY  DOG  OF  KENMUIR.    By 

Alfred  Ollivant.    Third  Edition. 

Cr.  Zvo.     6s. 

'Weird,    thrilling,     strikingly    graphic' — 

Punch. 
'  We  admire  this  book.  .  .  .  It  is  one  to  read 
with  admiration  and  to  praise  with  en- 
thusiasm.'— Booliman. 
'  It  is  a  fine,  open-air,  blood-stirring  book, 
to  be  enjoyed  by  every  man  and  woman 
to  ivhom  a  dog  is  dear.' — Literature. 

B.  M.  Croker.  PEGGY  OF  THE 
BARTONS.      By   B.    M.   Croker, 


Author      of      'Diana      Barrington.' 
Fourth  Edition.     Crown  Zvo.     6s. 
Mrs.  Croker  excels  in  the  admirably  simple, 
easy,  and  direct  flow  of  her  narrative,  the 
briskness  of  her  dialogue,  and  the  geni- 
ality of  her  portraiture.' — Spectator. 

Mary  L.  Pandered.     AN  ENGLISH- 
MAN.     By  Mary  L.   Pendered, 
Crown  Zvo.     6s. 
'  Her  book  is  most  healthy  in   tone,  and 
leaves  a  pleasant  taste  in  the  mouth." — 
Pall  A/all  Gazette. 
'  A  very  noble  book.    It  is  filled  with  wisdom 

and  sympathy.'—Liierary  IVorld. 
'  .^t  once  sound  and  diverting.' — Academy. 

Money     Roberts.        THE      PLUN- 
DERERS.    By  Morley  Roberts, 
Author     of     '  The     Colossus,"     etc. 
Crown  Zvo.     6s. 
'  The    author    secures  and    maintains  the 
reader's  lively  interest  in  his  clever  ab- 
surdities.'—/'a//  Mall  Gazette. 
'  The  whole  atmosphere  is  one  of  high  spirits 

and  high  comedy.' — Globe. 
'  Mr.  Roberts  writes  of  real  people  who  do 
thintjs  and  know  things.'— j9/ac,t  and 
White. 

Norma  Lorimer.  MIRRY-ANN.  By 
Norma  Lorimer,  Author  of  'Jo- 
siah's  Wife. "     Cjvwn  Zvo.     6s. 

'  The  heroine  is  rare  and  striking,  but 
thorough  woman  and  altogether  lovable, 
and  the  plot  is  brisk  and  well  sustained.' 
—Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

'  It  is  a  Manx  story,  and  a  right  able  story. 
The  atmosphere  is  excellent,  the  descrip- 
tive passages  fine,  and  the  story  is  one 
which  will  repay  perusal.' — Glasgoxv 
Herald. 

'  A  Manx  novel  which  is  at  once  sincere, 
poetical,  and  in  the  best  sense  true." — 
Academy. 

Helen  SMpton.   THE  STRONG  GOD 
CIRCUM.STANCE.       By    Helen 
Shipton.     Crown  Zvo.     6s. 
'  A   story  of  high  merit  and   many  attrac- 
tions. ' — Scotsman. 
'  An  up-to-date  story — and  a  very  beautiful 
one  —  of    self-.sacrifice.'  —  Daily     Tele- 
graph. 
'  A  most  effective  story,  written  with  both 
insight  and   imagination.' — Leeds  Mer- 
cury. 


34 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Catalogue 


Violet  Hunt.      THE   HUMAN    IN- 
TEREST.       By     Violet     Hunt, 
Author   of   'A   Hard  Woman,'   etc. 
Crown  Zvo.     bs. 
'  Clever  observation  and  unfailing  wit.' — 

Academy. 
'The   insight   is  keen,    the    irony  is   deli- 
cate.'—  World. 

H.    G.    ■WeUs.     THE   STOLEN    BA- 
CILLUS,  and   other    Stories.      By 
H.    G.    Wells.       Second    Edition. 
Crown  8vo.     6s. 
'  The  impressions  ofa  very  striking  imagina- 
tion.'— Saturday  Review. 

H.    G.    WeUs.      THE     PLATTNER 
STORY  AND  Others.     By  H.   G. 
Wells.     Second  Edition.     Cr,  8vo. 
6s. 
'  Weird  and  mysterious,  they  seem  to  hold 
the  reader  as  by  a  magic  spell.' — Scots- 
man. 

Richard  Marsh.  MARVELS  AND 
MYSTERIES,  By  RiCH.\RD 
Marsh,    Author    of    'The    Beetle.' 

Crown  8vo.     6s. 

'  While  under  their  immediate  influence  the 
reader  is  conscious  of  nothing  but  thrill- 
ing excitement  and  curiosity.' — Glasgow 
Herald. 

'  Ingeniously  constructed  and  well  told.' — 
Morning-  Leader. 

'Admirably  selected  and  of  the  very  best.' 
— Christian  World. 

Esm6  Stuart.  CHRISTALLA.  By 
Esm6  Stuart,     Crown  8vo.    6s. 

'  The  story  is  happily  conceived,  and  enter- 
taining throughout.' — Scotsman. 

'An  excellent  story,  pathetic,  and  full  of 
humour.' — A  thenceum. 

'  We  wish  that  v/e  came  across  more  books 
like  this  clever  and  charming  story. — 
Leeds  Mercury. 

Sara  Jeannette  Duncan.  A  VOYAGE 
OF  CONSOLATION.  By  Sara 
Jeannette  Duncan,  Author  of  '  An 
American  Girl  in  London.'  Illus- 
trated. Third  Edition.  Cr.  8vo.  6s. 
'A  most  delightfully  bright  book. '— i?az'/j/ 

Telegraph . 
'The  dialogue  is  full  of  wit.  —Globe. 

Sara  Jeannette  Duncan.  THE  PATH 
OF  A  STAR.    By  Sara  Jeannette 


Duncan,  Author  of  '  A  Voyage  of 

Consolation."      Illustrated.      Second 

Edition,     Crown  8vo.     6s. 

'Richness  and  fullness  of  local  colouring, 

brilliancy  of  style,  smiting  phrases,  and 

the  display  of  very  pretty  humour  are 

graces  which  are  here  in  profusion.    The 

interest  never  flags.'— Pa// i)/a//Ga2^^/f. 

C.  F.  Keary.     THE  JOURNALIST. 
By  C.  F.  Keary.     Cr.  8vo.  _  6^. 

'  It  is  rare  indeed  to  find  such  poetical  sym- 
pathy with  Nature  joined  to  close  study 
of  character  and  singularly  truthful  dia- 
logue :  but  then  "TThe  Journalist  "  is 
altogether  a  rare  book.' — Athenceum. 

W.  E.  Norris.   MATTHEW  AUSTIN. 
By  W.  E.  NoRRis,  Author  of  '  Made- 
moiselle de   Mersac,"   etc.       Fourth 
Edition.     Crown  8vo,     6s. 
'  An  intellectually  satisfactory  and  morally 
bracing  uoyeX.'— Daily  Telegraph. 
W.E.  Norris.  HIS  GRACE.  ByW.  E. 
NoRRlS.     Third  Edition.     Cr.  8vo. 
6s. 
W.    E.    Norris.       THE    DESPOTIC 
LADY  AND  OTHERS.     ByW.  E. 
Norris.     Crozvn  8i'o.    6s. 
W.  E.  Norris.   CLARISSA  FURIOSA. 
By  W.  E.  Norris.     Cr.  8vo.    6s. 
'  As  a  story  it  is  admirable,  as  ajeu  d' esprit 
it  is  capital,  as  a   lay  sermon  studded 
with  gems  of  wit  and  wisdom  it  is  a 
model?— r/jtf  World. 

W.  E.  Norris.    GILES  INGILBY.    By 
W.  E.  Norris.    Illustrated.    Second 
Edition.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 
'  Interesting,   wholesome,   and  charmingly 
written.' — Glasgow  Herald. 

W.    E.    Norris.      AN  OCTAVE.      By 
W.   E.    Norris.      Second   Edition. 
Crown  8vo.     6s. 
'  A    very    perfect    exposition    of   the    self- 
restraint,    the   perfect  knowledge  of  so- 
ciety and  its  ways,  the  delicate  sense  of 
humour,    which    are   the    main   charac- 
teristics    of     this     very     accomplished 
author.' — Country  Life. 

Ernest  Glanville.    THE  DESPATCH 

RIDER.     By  Ernest  Glanville, 

Author  of  '  The  Kloof  Bride. '    Crown 

8vo.     6s. 

A  highly  interesting  story  of  the  present 

Boer  War  by  an  author  who  knows  the 

country  well,  and  has  had  experience  of 

Boer  campaigning. 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Catalogue 


35 


W.  Clark  RusseU.  MY  DANISH 
SWEETHEART.  By  W.  Clark 
Russell.  Illustrated.  Fourth 
Edition.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 

Robert  Barr.     IN  THE  MIDST  OF 

ALARMS.      By     Robert     Barr. 

Third  Edition.     Cr.  8vo.     6s. 

'A  book  which  has  abundantly  satisfied  us 

byitscapital  humour.' — Daily  Chronicle. 

'Mr.  Barr  has  achieved  a  triumph.'— /'a// 

Mall  Gazette. 

Robert    Barr.       THE     MUTABLE 

MANY.    By  Robert  Barr.    Second 

Edition.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 

'  Very  much  the  best  novel  that  Mr.  Barr 

has  yet  given  us.    There  is  much  insight 

in   it,   and   much  excellent  humour.' — 

Daily  Chronicle. 

Robert    Barr.      THE    COUNTESS 
TEKL.^.  By  Robert  Barr.  Second 
Edition.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 
'Of  these  mediasval  romances,  which   are 
now  gaining    ground,    "The   Countess 
Tekla"is  the  very  best  we  have  seen. 
The  story  is  written  in  clear  English, 
and  a  picturesque,  moving  style.' — Pall 
Mall  Gazette. 
Andrew  Balfour.     BY  STROKE  OF 
SWORD.     By  A.  Balfour.     Illus- 
trated. Fourth  Edition.   Cr.  8vo.  6s. 
A  banquet  of  good  things.' — Academy. 
'A  recital_  of  thrilling  interest,   told  with 

unflagging  vigour.' — Globe. 
'  An  unusually  excellent  example  of  a  semi- 
historic  romance.' — World. 

Andrew  Balfour.     TO  ARMS!     By 

Andrew     Balfour.       Illustrated. 

Second  Edition.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 

'  The  marvellous  perils  through  which  Allan 

passes  are  told  in   powerful  and  lively 

fashion.  '—Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

Andrew  Balfour.    VENGEANCE  IS 
MINE.      By   Andrew    Balfour, 
Author    of    'By  Stroke   of   Sword." 
Illustrated.      Crown  8vo.     6s. 
A  vigorous  piece  of  work,  well  written,  and 

abounding  in  stirring  incidents.' — Glas- 

goT.u  Herald. 

J.   Maclaren  Cobban.    THE  KING 

OF    ANDA^L•\N  :     A    Saviour    of 

Society.    By  J.  Maclaren  Cobban. 

Crown  8vo.     6s, 

'An  unquestionably  interesting  book.     It 

contains  one  character,  at  least,  who  has 

in  him  the  root  of  immortality.'— /"a// 

Mall  Gmutte. 


J.  Maclaren  Cobban.  THE  ANGEL 
OF  THE  COVENANT.  By  J. 
Maclaren  Cobban.     Cr.  8vo.    6s. 

R.   N.  Stephens.     AN  ENEMY  TO 
THE  KING.     By  R.  N.  Stephens. 
Second  Edition.      Cr.  8vo.     6s. 
'  Itis  full  of  movement,  and  the  movement 

is  always  buoyant.' — Scotsman. 
'  A  stirring  story  with  plenty  o*' movement.' 
—Black  and  White. 

R.  N.  Stephens.      A  GENTLEMAN 
PLAYER.      By   R.    N.   Stephens, 
Author  of  'An  Enemy  to  the  King.' 
Crown  8vo.     6s. 
'  A  bright  and  spirited  romance  of  adven- 
ture,  full   of  movement  and  changing 
action. ' — Scotsman. 

R.  Hichena.   BYEWAYS.   By  Robert 
HiCHENS.     Author  of  '  Flames,  etc' 
Second  Edition.     Cr.  8vo.     6s. 
'  The  work  is  undeniably  that  of  a   man  of 
striking  imagination.'— Zlaz'/y  News. 

J.  S.  Fletcher.  THE  PATHS  OF 
THE  PRUDENT.  By  J.  S.  Flet- 
cher.    Crown  8vo.     6s. 

J.    B.    Burton.     IN   THE   DAY   OF 

ADVERSITY.    By  J.  Bloundelle- 
Burton.  Second  Edition.  Cr.  8vo.  6s. 
'  Unusually  interesting  and  full  of  highly 
dramatic  situations. ' — Guardian. 

J.  B.  Burton.     DENOUNCED.     By 
J.    Bloundelle-Burton.      Second 
Edition.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 
'A  fine,  manly,  spirited  piece  of  work.' — 
IVorld. 

J.    B.   Burton.      THE    CLASH    OF 
ARMS.     By  J.   Bloundelle-Bur- 
ton.   Second  Edition.     Cr.  8vo.    6s. 
' A   brave  story — brave  in  deed,  brave  in 
word,   brave  in  thought.' — St.  James's 
Gazette. 

J.  B.  Burton.     ACROSS  THE  SALT 
SEAS.  By  J.  Bloundelle-Burton. 
Second  Edition.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 
'  The  very  essence   of  the   true   romantic 
spirit.' — Truth. 


36 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Catalogue 


W.  C.  Scully.    THE  WHITE  HECA- 
TOMB.    By  W.  C.  Scully,  Author 
of  '  Kafir  Stories.'     Cr.  ^vo.     6s. 
'  Reveals  a  marvellously  intimate  under- 
standing of  the  Kaffir  mind.' — African 
Critic. 

W.    C.    Scully.       BETWEEN    SUN 


AND   SAND.     By  W.  C.  ScuLLT, 

Author  of  'The  While  Hecatomb.' 

Cr.  Svo.     6s. 

'  The  reader  passes  at  once  into  the  very 

atmosphere  of  the  African  desert :  the 

inexpressible  space  and  stillness  swallow 

him  up,  and  there  is  no  world  for  him  but 

that  immeasiuable  waste.' — Athtfurum. 


DANIEL  WHYTE 
SON. 

THE  CAPSINA. 


By  A.  J.  Daw- 

By  E.  F.  Benson. 

DODO:  A  DETAIL  OF  THE  DAY. 
By  E.  F.  Benson. 

THE  VINTAGE.  By  E.  F.  Benson. 
Illustrated  by  G.  P.  Jacomb-Hood. 

ROSE  A  CHARLITTE.  By  Mar- 
shall Saunders. 

WILLOWBRAKE.  By  R.  Murray 
Gilchrist. 

THINGS  THAT  HAVE  HAP- 
PENED.    By  Dorothea  Gerard. 

SIR  ROBERT'S  FORTUNE.  By 
Mrs.  Oliphant. 

THE  TWO  MARYS.  By  Mrs. 
Oliphant. 

THE  LADY'S  WALK.  By  Mrs. 
Oliphant. 

LONE  PINE:  A  ROMANCE  OF 
MEXICAN      LIFE.        By     R.     B. 

TOWNSHEND. 

WILT  THOU  HAVE  THIS 
WOMAN  ?  By  J.  Maclaren 
Cobban. 

A  PASSIONATE  PILGRIM,  By 
Percy  White. 

SECRETARY  TO  BAYNE,  M.P. 
By  W.  Pett  Ridge. 

ADRIAN  ROME.  By  E.  Dawson 
and  A.  MoORE. 


OTHER  SIX-SHILLING  NOVELS 

Crown  Zvo. 

By 


Minnie      Muriel 


THE       BUILDERS. 
Fletcher. 


By      J.      S. 


GALLIA. 

DOWIE. 

THE  CROOK  OF  THE  BOUGH. 
By  Mi;NiE  Muriel  Dowie. 

A  BUSINESS  IN  GREAT  WATER.S. 
By  Julian  Corbett. 

MISS  ERIN.     By  M.  E.  Francis. 

ANANIAS.  By  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Alan 
Brodrick. 

CORRAGEEN    IN     '98.        By    Mrs. 

Orpen. 
THE  PLUNDER  PIT.    ByJ.  Keigh- 

leySnowden. 

CROSS  TRAILS.    By  Victor  Waite. 

SUCCESSORS    TO    THE    TITLE. 

By  Mrs.  Walford. 
KIRKHAM'S     FIND.       By     Mary 

Gaunt. 
DEADMAN'S.     By  Mary  Gaunt. 

CAPTAIN  JACOBUS  :  A  ROMANCE 
OF  THE  ROAD.  By  L.  CopeCorn- 
ford. 

SONS  OF  ADVERSITY.  By  L.  Cope 
Cornford. 

THE  KING  OF  ALBERIA.  By 
Laur.\  Daintrey. 

THE  DAUGHTER  OF  ALOUETTE. 
By  Mary  A.  Owen. 

CHILDREN  OF  THIS  WORLD. 
By  Ellen  F.  Pinsent. 

AN  ELECTRIC  SPARK.  By  G. 
Manville  Fenn. 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Catalogue 


37 


UNDER  SHADOW  OF  THE 
MISSION.     By  L.  S.  McChesney. 

THE  SPECULATORS.  By  J.  F. 
Brewer. 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  STORM.  By 
Ronald  Ross. 

THE  QUEENSBERRY  CUP.  By 
Clive  p.  Wolley. 

A  HOME  IN  INVERESK.  By  T. 
L.  Paton. 

MISS  A  R  M  S  T  R  O  N  G'S  AND 
OTHER  CIRCUMSTANCES.  By 
John  Davidson. 

DR.  CONGALTON'S  LEGACY.  By 
Henry  Johnston. 

TIME  AND  THE  WOxMAN.  By 
Richard  Pryce. 

THIS  MAN'S  DOMINION.  By  the 
Author  of  '  A  High  Little  World.' 

DIOGENES  OF  LONDON.  By  H. 
B.  Marriott  Watson. 


THE    STONE    DRAGON.     By 
Murray  Gilchrist. 

A    VICAR'S    WIFE.       By    EvELYN 
Dickinson. 

ELSA.     By  E.  M 'Queen  Gray. 

THE  SINGER  OF  MARLY.     By   I. 

HOOPEK. 

THE  FALL   OF  THE  SPARROW. 
By  M.  C.  Balfour. 

A  SERIOUS  COMEDY.  By  Herbert 
Morrah. 

THE      FAITHFUL      CITY.         By 
Herbert  Morrah. 

IN  THE  GREAT  DEEP.     By  J.  A. 
Barry. 


BIJLI,    THE   DANCER. 
Blythe  Patton. 

JOSIAH'S      WIFE.         By 
Lorimer. 

THE       PHILANTHROPIST. 
Lucy  Maynard. 

VAUSSORE 


By  J. 
By  James 
Norma 
By 
By  Francis  Brune. 


THREE-ANO-SIXPENNY     NOVELS 

Crown  Svo. 


DERRICK     VAUGHAN.     NOVEL- 
IST.     42nd  thousand.      By    Edna 
Lyall. 
A  SON   OF  THE   STATE.      By  W. 

Pett  Ridge. 
CEASE    FIRE!      By    J.    Maclaren 
Cobban.     Crown  %vo.     y.  6d. 
A  stirring  Story  of  the  Boer  War  of  1881, 
including  the  Siege  of  Potchefstrom  and 
the  Defeat  of  Majuba. 
'  Brightly  told  and  drawn  with  .1  strong  and 

sure  hand.' — St.  James's  Gazette. 
'  A  capital  novel.' — Scotstnan. 
'  Fact   and    fiction    are    so    deeply   woven 
together  that  the  book  reads  like  a  fas- 
cinating chapter  of  history.' — Pall  Mall 
Gazette. 
THE  KLOOF  BRIDE.     By  Ernest 

Glanville. 
A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  DESERT. 

By  W.  C.  Scully. 
SUBJECT  TO  VANITY.     By  Mar- 
garet Benson. 


THESIGNOFTHE  SPIDER.    Fifth 
Edition.     By  Bertram  Mitford. 

THE  MOVING  FINGER.    By  Mary 
Gaunt. 

JACO  TRELOAR.    By  J.  H.  Peakce. 
THE    DANCE   OF    THE    HOURS. 
By  'Vera.' 

A  WOMAN  OF  FORTY.     By  EsMii 

Stuart. 
A  CUMBERER  OF  THE  GROUND. 

By  Constance  Smith. 

THE  SIN  OF  ANGELS.    By  Evelyn 
Dickinson. 

AUT     DIABOLUS     AUT     NIHIL. 
By  X.  L. 

THE    COMING    OF    CUCULAIN. 
By  Standish  O'Grady. 

THE  GODS   GIVE   MY   DONKEY 
WINGS.    By  Angus  Evan  Abbott. 


38 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Catalogue 


THE  STAR  GAZERS.     By  G.  Man^ 

VILLE    FENN. 

THE    POISON    OF   ASPS.      By    R. 

Orton  Prowse. 
THE  QUIET  MRS.  FLEMING.     By 

R.  Pryce. 
DISENCHANTMENT.  By  F.Mabel 

Robinson. 
THE    SQUIRE    OF    WANDALES. 

By  A.  Shield. 
A  REVEREND  GENTLEMAN.     By 

J.  M.  Cobban. 
A     DEPLORABLE     AFFAIR.       By 

W.  E.  Norris. 


A  CAVALIER'S  LADYE.  By  Mrs. 
Dicker. 

THE  PRODIGALS.  By  Mrs. 
Oliphant. 

THE  SUPPLANTER.  By  P.  Neu- 
mann. 

A  MAN  WITH  BLACK  EYE- 
LASHES.    By  H.  A.  Kennedy. 

A  HANDFUL  OF  EXOTICS.  By 
S.  Gordon. 


AN      ODD      EXPERIMENT. 

Hannah  Lynch. 
TALES  OF  NORTHUMBRIA. 

Howard  Pease. 


By 
By 


HALF-CROWN     NOVELS 

Crown  ?,vo. 


HOVENDEN,  V.C.     By   F.    Mabel 

Robinson. 
THE   PLAN  OF  CAMPAIGN.     By 

F.  Mabel  Robinson. 
MR.    BUTLER'S    WARD.      By     F. 

Mabel  Robinson. 
ELI'S    CHILDREN.      By    G.    Man- 

ville  Fenn. 
A   DOUBLE   KNOT.     By   G.    Man- 

ville  Fenn. 
DISARMED.      By    M.    Betham 

Edwards. 


IN  TENT  AND  BUNGALOW.     By 

the  Author  of  '  Indian  Idylls.' 
M  Y    S  T  E  W  A  R  D  S  H  I  P.      By   E. 

M'Queen  Gray. 
JACK'S     FATHER.        By     W.      E. 

Norris. 
A   LOST   ILLUSION.      By   Leslie 

Keith. 

THE  TRUE  HISTORY  OF  JOSHUA 
DAVIDSON,  Christian  and  Com- 
munist. By  E.  Lynn  Lynton. 
Eleventh  Edition,     Post  8vo.     is. 


Ube  1Ro\?eli5t 

Messrs.  Methuen  are  making  an  interesting  experiment  which  constitutes  a 
fresh  departure  in  publishing.  They  are  issuing  under  the  above  general  title 
a  Monthly  Series  of  Novels  by  popular  authors  at  the  price  of  Sixpence.  Many 
of  these  Novels  have  never  been  published  before.  Each  Number  is  as  long  as 
the  average  Six  Shilling  Novel.  The  first  numbers  of  '  The  Novelist  '  are  as 
follows : — 


I.  DEAD  MEN  TELL  NO  TALES. 
E.  W.  Hornung. 

H.  JENNIE    BAXTER,    JOURNA- 
LIST.    Robert  Barr. 

III.  THE      INCA'S      TREASURE. 

Ernest  Glanville. 

IV.  A  SON  OF  THE  STATE.      W. 

Pett  Ridge. 
V.  FURZE   BLOOM.      S.   Baring 

Gould. 
VI.  BUNTER'S  CRUISE.       C. 

Gleig. 


VII.  THE        GAY        DECEIVERS. 

Arthur  Moore. 

VIII.  PRISONERS   OF    WAR.       A. 

BoYSON  Weekes. 

IX.  THE  ADVENTUREOF  PRIN- 
CESS SYLVIA.  Mrs.  C.  F. 
Williamson. 
X.  VELDTANDL.^AGER:  Tales 
of  the  Transvaal.  E.S.Valen- 
tine. 

XI.  THE    NIGGER     KNIGHTS. 

F.  NORREYS  CONNELL. 

XII.  A  MARRIAGE  AT  SEA.     W. 
Clark  Russell. 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Catalogue 


39 


Books  for  Boys  and  Girls 

A  Series  of  Books  by  well- known  Authors,  well  illustrated. 
THREE-AND-SIXPENCE  EACH 


THE  ICELANDER'S  SWORD.     By 

S.  Baring  Gould. 
TWO    LITTLE   CHILDREN   AND 

CHING.     By  Edith  E.  Cuthell. 
TODDLEBEN'S  HERO.     By  M.  M. 

Bl.\ke. 
ONLY  A  GUARD -ROOM  DOG. 

By  Edith  E.  Cuthell. 
THE  DOCTOR  OF  THE   JULIET. 

By  Harry  Collingwood. 


MASTER  ROCKAFELLAR'S  VOY- 
AGE.    By  W.  Clark  Russell. 

SYD  BELTON :  Or,  The  Boy  who 
would  not  go  to  Sea.  By  G.  Man- 
viLLE  Fenn. 

THE  WALLYPUG    IN    LONDON. 

By  G.  E.  Farrow. 
ADVENTURES     IN     WALLYPUG 

LAND.     By  G.  E.  Farrow,     ^s. 


The  Peacock  Library 

A  Series  of  Books  for  Girls  by  well-known  Authors,  handsomely  bound, 
and  well  illustrated. 


THREE-AND-SIXPENCE  EACH 


THE     RED    GRANGE. 
Molesworth. 


By     Mrs.     DUMPS 


THE  SECRET  OF  MADAME  DE 
MO.N'LUC.  By  the  Author  of 
'  Mdle.  Mori. ' 


By  Mrs.   PARK. 

A    GIRL  OF   THE    PEOPLE.      By 
L.  T.  Meade. 

HEPSY  GIPSY. 
■2.S.  bd. 


OUT  OF  THE   FASHION. 
T.  Meade. 


By  L. 


THE    HONOURABLE 
L.  T,  Meade. 


By  L.  T.  Meade. 
MISS.     By 


University    Extension   Series 

A  series  of  books  on  historical,  literary,  and  scientific  subjects,  suitable  for 
extension  students  and  home-reading  circles.  Each  volume  is  complete  in 
itself,  and  the  subjects  are  treated  by  competent  writers  in  a  broad  and 
philosophic  spirit. 

Edited  by  J.   E.  SYMES,  M.A., 

Principal  of  University  College,  Nottingham. 

Crown  Svo.     Price  {with  some  exceptions)  2s.  6d. 

The  following  volumes  are  ready : — 


THE  INDU.STRIAL  HISTORY  OF 
ENGLAND.  By  H.  de  B.  Gibbins, 
Lilt.D.,  xM.A.,  late  Scholar  of  Wad- 
ham  College,  Oxon.,  Cobden  Prize- 
man. Si xtk  Edition,  Revised.  With. 
Maps  and  Plans.     35. 

A  HI.STORY  OF  ENGLISH  POLITI- 
CAL ECO. N'oMY.    By  I„  L.  pKict, 


M.A.,  Fellow  of  Oriel  College,  Oxon. 
Third  Edition. 

PROBLEMS  OF  POVERTY :  An 
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